As the young mother, she gingerly carries her baby and in a sweet, earnest tone says, "Doctor, my baby is sick! She has a fever." Sometimes she is an older mother, stooped over and limping slightly. Then her voice quavers slightly as she details her baby's numerous ailments.
As young Dr. Pittard, she uses a (hysterical) deep voice and questions me about what's wrong with my baby. She has a big fake laugh, during which she throws her head back and places her hand on her stomach. No matter what affliction my baby is facing, the cure is always more (no, not cowbell) Band-Aids. Ear infection? Band-Aids. Upset stomach? Band-Aids. Who knows - maybe she'll revolutionize Harvard medical school someday.
Okay, so I had to add this edit - I've been working in the kitchen this morning, cleaning up, prepping produce and taking care of dinner preparations. Now it's hard enough to work when there's a real cat underfoot (I'm lookin' at you, Daisy!) but when this happens ...
|Now picture me standing in the corner there, trying not to trip over the cat or its kitten.|
It's especially challenging to interpret how I'm supposed to interact with the cat because, of course, she only meows.
|She dressed herself this morning, can you tell?|