Fire! Fire! Fire!

Frida’s Oma got an iPad for Christmas, and Frida’s Papa got a new camera (and some child laborers in China got some work in an electronics factory,) so pictorial posts will be the feature of the week. First though, something I need to put on the table.

We have a good relationship with Frida’s pediatrician. He gives reasonable, well-explained arguments for the timing of vaccines. He strikes a good balance between assuaging worry and providing treatment. He is a likable guy, and Frida adores him. When I tell you, then, that the celebration of Christmas in his office involved ┬álit advent candles (emphasis on the LIT, not the ADVENT,) you will understand why I am torn about terminating our relationship. I thought that he had Frida’s best interests at heart before I saw that the nurse’s station was practically on fire. Who lets children within 25 feet of open flame? With only their primary caretakers and a handful of pediatric professionals between them and certain death (or a moderately uncomfortable wax burn?) At least the candles were at a height that was difficult for most children to reach, the lit advent candles at my obstetrician’s office were on a medium-low desk, within the reach of curious fingers and just at big-belly-grazing height. It’s a little Christmas miracle that we’re still here to tell you about them.

I still get a kick out of my knee-jerk reactions to the overall indifference with which Germany approaches its responsibility to save me from me. Candles! Lit! In a pediatrician’s office! Shocking. See also: unregulated speed on the autobahn, no enforced bar closing times, and the availability of mayonnaise on french fries.

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