I'm in love with my children's pediatrician. Yes, Dr. P. is many years my senior, I'm pretty sure he's married, and I generally prefer my men without beards. But there's just no resisting the man's charms. He never tires of discussing the intimate quirks, habits and bodily functions of my beloved offspring, listening raptly to harrowing tales of vomit and fever. He knows all the tricks to turn my shot-phobic toddler from shrieks to smiles. (A bouncy tennis ball and a Thomas the Train sticker usually do the job.) And he keeps on taking my phone calls despite knowing better than...
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