Sir, You Are No Gentleman!

I love going to the pediatrician's office. It is usually such an ego booster. I mean, there is the occasional awkward moment - like when I accidentally exposed myself to the doctor (and by exposed, I mean I apparently flashed him when I was nursing). Whaaaaat? He's a man of science. A physician. He sees female parts every day. It isn't my fault his patients aren't as well-endowed as I am!

Anyway, our pediatrician always says I have great-looking kids. When we brought The Girl in for her first check-up and he went on and on about how beautiful she is, we were convinced that he feels that he has to say those things because a) new moms are hormonal and b) you're expected to say a new baby is cute. At her 2-month checkup the doc confided that he doesn't always say that babies are cute - and I quote:

"[You]see a lot of babies so sometimes I say, 'Oh, she
looks like Mom/Dad. But your baby is really pretty.'"

This is where I prematurely began to blush and talk in my head like Scarlett O'Hara:

"Oh why thank you doctor. Do go on.
She is the most precious looking angel."

Then the record player in my head went... zzzzzzzip and I turned into a Jerry-Springer-guest:

"Oh no he di-int. Did he just say that some babies
look like their parents but this baby is pretty?"

It seldom happens, but I was speechless. I didn't know if I should say "thank you" or "well, we're not exactly trolls." Maybe the South is rubbing off on me because I like to think I should have given the Miss Scarlett reply but, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."