Lets face facts.

The paediatrician is good looking.

I’m a big girl, I can admit that without collapsing with jelly legs.

Or falling in lust.

Or swooning.

Or gushing.

Not just your average good looking. He is really good looking and he is nice to the staff at the hospital and his hands are strong.

Does anyone else like strong hands?

No? Just another of my strange little quirks, perhaps.

His personality is weighted in salesman like shmooze. (Nothing against salesmen, you know, just likening to the stereotype and all).

What I mean is, he could talk his way out of any trouble.

Any at all.

And did I mention the power dressing?

One of my friend’s reckons that is my sole purpose for keeping him as our paed. I have been dazzled by his power shirts! (Purple being one of his favourite power colours).

I can make these observations because I spend so much damn time with the man.

When he comes to visit in the hospital the nurses surround him, like bees to honey.

* and there is much swooning to be had*

There is just something about him.

Charasmatic springs to mind. (All of the above does not lessen my frustration with him).

While we were in the hospital last, nearly every single nurse, who came near us, told us how (use sing song, lovey dovey voice here) lucky we were to have him for our paed, how delicious he was and how, it was unfortunate that he was married and had a mess of kids because he could park his size 11 boots under their beds any time he wanted!

Oh. Yes. They Did.