dainty hand in his.
“I’m an unusual woman,” she shot immediately.
“I can see that.”
“Okay, so anyway, Dr. Comstock, nursing has become extremely painful and I’m not really sure what to do about it,” I said.
“Nor am I,” Dr. Comstock said. “I gotta be honest, I don’t know a whole heck of a lot about breastfeeding. Have you tried calling La Leche League?”
“My, my, Dr. Comstock,” Anjoli said. I swore the next words out of her mouth were going to be “I do declare” as she hid behind a lace hand fan. Instead, she finished, “A doctor who admits he doesn’t know everything. How very unusual you are.”
“So anyway, Adam is still peeing about eight times a day and pooping four times, so he’s right on track with the chart you gave me.” I said, though it got absolutely no response. “He didn’t have any reaction to the vaccine, so that was a relief.”
“Yes,” Dr. Comstock said. Finally, I’d reclaimed the pediatrician’s attention. “I try to empower my patients by not leading them to believe I have all the answers.” What? Just last week, I asked a question and you said, “You came to the right place. When it comes to babies, I have all the answers.”
“We got the meconium poop just like you said,” I struggled. “But my mother and I were wondering how we remove the umbilical cord scab.”
“Excuse me.” Dr. Comstock finally turned to me. Then he asked my mother what she was wondering about.
“That dreadful-looking scab, darling,” she said. “Whenever can we stop looking at that thing?”
He burst into laughter. “You are so refreshingly honest, Anjoli.”
“Thank you ...” She paused for his name.
“Edward,” Dr. Comstock answered. “I can’t tell you how many grandmothers come in here and pretend they’re charmed by every bowel movement their little ones make. You are so genuine.” Ask her about IHOP! Never breaking eye contact, he assured Anjoli that the scab would fall off on its own in a few days.
“So how are you doing, Mom? Are you breastfeeding?”
On the drive home, we avoided talking about the unbelievably gross spectacle she and Dr. Comstock, oh excuse me, Edward, made of themselves. Instead, Anjoli asked if we should buy our pies that evening. “Will they keep for two days?’
“We can buy them fresh Thursday morning,” I said. “I’ll take you to a nice little bakery where they have everything from apple to mincemeat.”
“Oh, Kiki’s a vegetarian.”
“Mother, mincemeat isn’t meat and besides, all I meant was that they have a large selection.”
“What do people like best?” Again with the people. What planet did she fancy herself from?
“People like apple pie,” I declared, absolutely certain my suggestion would be rejected.
“Not pumpkin?” she asked.
“People like pumpkin pie too. We should absolutely get the pumpkin pie.”
“What is mincemeat if not meat, darling?” Anjoli asked me.
“It’s an apple-raisin thing. It usually has meat in it though and Kiki’s a vegetarian, remember?”
“She’s wheat-free, too.”
“Well, Mother, pies have wheat in them.”
“I want to go look at the pies myself,” Anjoli said. “Does the pie place open early?”
“It’s a bakery! They open at, like, five in the morning.”
“We don’t need to get there that early.”
“Okay, my point was that they will be open for pie inspection earlier than we could ever, possibly, in our wildest dreams imagine going there.”
“You are so cranky. I have an idea. Why don’t we drive there now and bring home a pie for you and Jack? That way, I can take a look at the pies they have and I can treat you two to a little dessert. I really think a little something sweet will cheer you up. What’s Jack’s favorite kind of pie? “
“Fuck pie!” I exploded. “Enough about the goddamn pie, already. How ‘bout you take the wheel and drive so I’m not sitting straight on this fucking peanut-sized hemorrhoid dangling
“I’m an unusual woman,” she shot immediately.
“I can see that.”
“Okay, so anyway, Dr. Comstock, nursing has become extremely painful and I’m not really sure what to do about it,” I said.
“Nor am I,” Dr. Comstock said. “I gotta be honest, I don’t know a whole heck of a lot about breastfeeding. Have you tried calling La Leche League?”
“My, my, Dr. Comstock,” Anjoli said. I swore the next words out of her mouth were going to be “I do declare” as she hid behind a lace hand fan. Instead, she finished, “A doctor who admits he doesn’t know everything. How very unusual you are.”
“So anyway, Adam is still peeing about eight times a day and pooping four times, so he’s right on track with the chart you gave me.” I said, though it got absolutely no response. “He didn’t have any reaction to the vaccine, so that was a relief.”
“Yes,” Dr. Comstock said. Finally, I’d reclaimed the pediatrician’s attention. “I try to empower my patients by not leading them to believe I have all the answers.” What? Just last week, I asked a question and you said, “You came to the right place. When it comes to babies, I have all the answers.”
“We got the meconium poop just like you said,” I struggled. “But my mother and I were wondering how we remove the umbilical cord scab.”
“Excuse me.” Dr. Comstock finally turned to me. Then he asked my mother what she was wondering about.
“That dreadful-looking scab, darling,” she said. “Whenever can we stop looking at that thing?”
He burst into laughter. “You are so refreshingly honest, Anjoli.”
“Thank you ...” She paused for his name.
“Edward,” Dr. Comstock answered. “I can’t tell you how many grandmothers come in here and pretend they’re charmed by every bowel movement their little ones make. You are so genuine.” Ask her about IHOP! Never breaking eye contact, he assured Anjoli that the scab would fall off on its own in a few days.
“So how are you doing, Mom? Are you breastfeeding?”
On the drive home, we avoided talking about the unbelievably gross spectacle she and Dr. Comstock, oh excuse me, Edward, made of themselves. Instead, Anjoli asked if we should buy our pies that evening. “Will they keep for two days?’
“We can buy them fresh Thursday morning,” I said. “I’ll take you to a nice little bakery where they have everything from apple to mincemeat.”
“Oh, Kiki’s a vegetarian.”
“Mother, mincemeat isn’t meat and besides, all I meant was that they have a large selection.”
“What do people like best?” Again with the people. What planet did she fancy herself from?
“People like apple pie,” I declared, absolutely certain my suggestion would be rejected.
“Not pumpkin?” she asked.
“People like pumpkin pie too. We should absolutely get the pumpkin pie.”
“What is mincemeat if not meat, darling?” Anjoli asked me.
“It’s an apple-raisin thing. It usually has meat in it though and Kiki’s a vegetarian, remember?”
“She’s wheat-free, too.”
“Well, Mother, pies have wheat in them.”
“I want to go look at the pies myself,” Anjoli said. “Does the pie place open early?”
“It’s a bakery! They open at, like, five in the morning.”
“We don’t need to get there that early.”
“Okay, my point was that they will be open for pie inspection earlier than we could ever, possibly, in our wildest dreams imagine going there.”
“You are so cranky. I have an idea. Why don’t we drive there now and bring home a pie for you and Jack? That way, I can take a look at the pies they have and I can treat you two to a little dessert. I really think a little something sweet will cheer you up. What’s Jack’s favorite kind of pie? “
“Fuck pie!” I exploded. “Enough about the goddamn pie, already. How ‘bout you take the wheel and drive so I’m not sitting straight on this fucking peanut-sized hemorrhoid dangling
Similar Books
