So yes, I went to see the Hotty Pediatrician with peanut butter on my pants just so we could talk about poop, and yes, additionally it turned out that I had syrup on my sweater, right on the boob which I think is totally suggestive and hott in a "mother of toddler who must lean over to see her own feet" sort of way, but at least I'm not the one who dropped "anal fissures" into the conversation. Rawr.
Also, every time I see the Hotty Pediatrician about something that requires instructions, he gives me the exact same set of instructions three or four times. I used to think that either 1) he's one of those socially-awkward people who can't quite tell when to stop talking so he just keeps repeating himself until some little internal timer buzzes and alerts him that our time is up, or 2) he thought I was so stupid I needed to hear it all three or four times to get it. But today, I figured out that the real reason is that when you are trying to listen to directions while holding a squirming toddler on your lap and trying to stop her from poking your eye out with the shot from her play doctor kit, three or four repetitions is barely enough for whatever it is to sink into your brain and you will still find yourself at home trying desperately to remember whether it was twice a day for three days or three times a day for two days. So see, hot and clever too.
Although really, anal fissures? I just don't think we have that sort of relationship.