My youngest had a sore throat on Monday, and I ended up taking him to the doctor twice in one 24-hour period.

I didn’t used to be this mom. I used to be the mom who let illnesses develop for at least three days before even calling the nurse line. I used to be the mom who secretly judged the other moms who were taking their kids to urgent care at the first sign of fever. But after three rounds of strep throat diagnoses in a single month, I am now a crazy person.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that my youngest has started dressing in business casual for school: button up shirts and suit jackets. Some days he pairs this with sweatpants and dirty Crocs and the effect is hilarious. Other days he’s got the khaki pants going and he looks really good.

At urgent care check-in on Monday night he was still wearing his suit jacket and nice shirt from school. When we walked up to the desk the receptionist went on and on about what a little man he was.

“It’s not just the clothes,” she said. “It’s how he walks and talks and carries himself too.” She sighed and lamented that she would not be able to see him grow up. I assured her we would be back to urgent care many times in the next ten years.

The next day we were at a regular clinic to see a pediatrician we had never seen before. This receptionist also had a lot to say, but this time it was about my kid’s recurrent strep.

“You had strep three times in one month?” he exclaimed, looking at my youngest’s records. “Oh, that sucks. I had the same thing happen. They wanted to take out my tonsils and I was like oh no you don’t.”

“Why didn’t you want your tonsils out?” I asked.

“Have you ever met someone who had their tonsils out in their forties?” he said. “It takes like two full months to recover! When you’re a kid they just give you ice cream and you’re fine in two days, but when you’re adult it’s like ‘naaaaahhhhh I’m gonna need some Percocet sprinkled on that ice cream.’”

The last character in our journey was the nurse at the clinic, a very large man who seemed to be having some trouble breathing. He took my kid’s blood pressure and commented that he wished his blood pressure was that low.

“Well, it probably was that low when you were eight years old,” I said.

“Nah, I loved chips too much even back then,” he chuckled. He then went on for several sentences about how much he loves salt. I nodded along, enjoying the obesity camaraderie (rare at a doctor’s office).

I do enjoy these little fun-sized character studies, especially in settings where you expect people to be more boring and professional.