After an extensive pawing of Layla’s head at her 9 month check-up, our Pediatrician informed us that we would be paying a visit to a Craniologist for further testing as our precious, perfect, Layla had a precious, perfect, flat spot. This, along with a slight Plagiocephaly, which came from her preference of leaning her head to one side during sleep and play, would have to be scanned, graphed, and possibly fitted for a *gasp* $3,000 helmet. Yeah. You heard me. I said helmet.
We were assured not to worry, because nowadays said helmet comes in all sorts of pretty colors and, even more importantly, they are easily painted and decorated!! You can imagine my immediate relief! As many of you know, the mere fact that helmets are “the new black” is all it should take to alleviate any fashion-forward mother’s concerns.
Our Pediatrician stares at us. We stare at our Pediatrician. [crickets creak] On her face it is apparent that there is no consideration, the answer is obvious. And looking back at her, we hope that she sees on our faces that get it. We do! Not the fact that we haven’t heard anything since she casually threw out $3,000 and a bigger, more practical part of our brains is already weighing the odds that our Layla will want to wear hats and other miscellaneous head coverings for the remainder of her days. Of COURSE we want her to have a round head. Of COURSE we want her to fit in with all the other babies on the block. Of COURSE we don't want her to fall victim to the insatiable appetites of the bullies in her grade. Que obnoxious automated session with my insurance provider. Finally, a live person! I am able to confirm that, thankfully, the majority of the bully-prevention-tool is covered and it will only cost us $600 to be certain that Layla has the roundest head possible. This is important stuff, folks. We make our appointment with the Craniologist and jump down the rabbit hole.
For any of you who may be required to submit your children to such tortures, I offer a detailed accounting of the events which followed. After baby is stripped down to nothing but a diaper (mortifying!), she is required to don a dew-rag-ish stocking. We then place her (and “place” translated as derived from the Latin platea means: hold down red screaming baby) in what can only be described as a horrendously overpriced, gratified copy machine while the Dr. tries and tries again to obtain a decent scan of the object in question and poor dear husband makes a sweet and frantic attempt to distract baby from the fact that she is being pressed, against her will, onto a cold glass slab in a fashion faux pas of a corner-store-raiding-pantyhose-cap, no less.
Thankfully, the Doctor is well-practiced at photographing tantruming baby with his copy machine contraption and Layla finds dear sweet husband’s dancing with Mickey Mouse spinning, light-up, wand thingy, inspired. In the allotted time frame, only 3 huge alligator tears have managed to make their way down unforgiving pudgy cheeks. I counted.
The verdict is it looks like a nice round head courtesy of pink, butterfly covered helmet, isn’t in our precious, perfect, flat-headed, Layla’s future. While the plates in her head should do as all smart skull plates do and round out, she’ll have to charm potential courters not with her freakishly round noggin, but with her gentle demeanor, patience and soft-spoken personality.