Don Juan at the pediatrician’s office

I called the pediatrician’s office today to set up Amelia’s 4 month well check.  This reminded me of our trip to the Dr.’s office right after Amelia was born, and that situation seems oh so blog worthy.

We were sitting in the waiting room with a bunch of other moms and their sickly offspring. We smelled him before he even entered the building. Old Spice and hair gel, followed by a man with no easily discernible reason for being in a pediatrician’s office (like, a child). His careful Beiber coif unexpectedly wind blown, revealing his age appropriate receding hairline.  It is difficult to say what was more unsettling: his ridiculously tight jeans with sparkly nonsense all over the rear, or the come hither grin he deliberately flashed to each woman in the room.

I tried to figure out what he found so seductive about us…?

For myself, it may have been the allure of my giant nursing bra strap slipping from my shoulder again, or the impressive muffin top I was rocking in my pre-pregnancy jeans that were held together with a rubberband and a prayer. Or perhaps it was the fragrance of spit-up.

As I followed his gaze to Mom #2s direction I thought maybe her magnetism may have been the gentle flare of her nostrils as her little guy asked for the thirtieth time if they could please, please, PLEASE ride the elevator, but then I heard her guttural, “NO!” and figured that must be the appeal.

But then he focused on Mom #3, with her greenish hue, holding a vomit bag for her little one, and one for herself.  Her slow deliberate motions held his imagination captive. He, perhaps seeing the sensual movements of dance, me knowing this was a woman desperately trying to not puke in front of people.

I looked again at my sisters in motherhood and thought, We are kind of awesome. With our freakish upper body strength, capable of lifting an infant in a carrier AND a toddler, simultaneously.  We are able to write a check, have a conversation, wrangle kids and make a mental grocery list all at the same time.

So thank you, Don Juan, for reminding us that even when we don’t look or feel great, moms are still pretty awesome.

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