Cold as a Rat’s Patoot

It seems like 250 years ago that we first visited the OB’s office.  No really, I think I just saw Ben Franklin go past.  Or was that Jefferson?  Either way, we’ve been there so long that the receptionists call out to my wife by name.  They seem thrilled to see her and now, with the visits getting more frequent, it’s like old home week every time I turn around.

I’ve been carefully spying on the receptionists each time we’re there in an effort to see whether every round woman is as familiar to them as D.  And after 7 months of these shenanigans, I can say with certainty that we are getting an uncommon welcome.  There’s laughing and delightful debating about which month is the best month to be born, shrewd commentary on the doctors and exclamations about D (oh you look so great, you just look fantastic, let me see you!).  There are also somewhat unhinged colloquialisms bantered about.  Just this last time it was “this morning was colder than a rat’s patoot!”  My word.  We’re at a whole new level of patient/receptionist relationship.

We’re on our way back at the beginning of May when D will be 33 weeks.  How did that happen?  If the months go this quickly all the time, we’re going to have that awesome chubby-legged toddler we’re waiting for in no time at all.  But first we have to get a stroller.  And a set of sheets.  And a name.  Whatever.  If he’s early, we’ll wrap him in newspaper and call him Patoot.

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