Bless the patient people at CCFM who waited far beyond Felix’s actual appointment time for my husband to rectify all the errors in the insurance made by the very “helpful” rep we dealt with at the hospital.
Bless Felix, who waited patiently an hour past his mealtime in the waiting room as we attempted to figure it all out.
Bless the actual doctor, who let me nurse a ravenous Felix while she caught up on our family news, asking lots of questions about James and Owen, because she remembers them and thinks they are great.
Bless the receptionist, who was celebrating her 60th birthday with a big gaudy necklace with big, fat 60s all over it. Subtle it was not.
Bless the elderly lady who came over in the waiting room to ooh and ahh over our little bundle of perfection.
Bless the other elderly lady who, upon seeing my baby, felt the need to inform me of her bra size on her wedding day, while she was nursing her children, and after recently starting diabetes medication. “I had nothing, nothing, nothing, and now I’m Dolly Parton!” she proudly informed me.
Bless the third elderly lady sitting next to me who had to hear that, and a whole lot more, from second elderly lady.
And BUH-LESS the perfectly normal, mom-of-teenage-boy in the waiting room who saw Felix and commented on how tiny he was.
“He's beautiful. How old?”
“Thank you! 5 days.”
“Ah. So, not yours?”
“Yessss…mine.”
“Yessss…mine.”
“Oh. There is NO STINKING WAY you had a baby 5 days ago! I figured you were his aunt or something!”
Yes, BLESS.
