We were at the pediatrician's office (AGAIN) today, and the one nurse must be mainlining sunshine and rainbows because she is so enthusiastic and bouncy and over the top baby-talky that I just about need insulin after standing in the same room with her. She is kind and sweet, but man there is a lot of boisterous schmoopy talk that just flows from her.
She asked Caroline to take her shoes off so she could be weighed ("Okie dokie, little miss. Can we get your adddddorable shoesie woosies off so we can weigh you? Oooooh, you are 38 potatoes! Yes you are. 38 SWEET po-tay-tees.").
Caroline looked a little uncomfortable but smiled, and then looked at me like "Lady, help me!"
We had the litany of normal questions for a sick visit, all in hyperactive candy-coated code. Then the nurse asked Caroline for her age.
"Um, I'm three. I used to be two. But then I grew, and now I am three." And then she shuffled her feet and winced a little. "I mean, three sweet po-tay-tees."