Percocet, meet Mommy Guilt

Percocet gives me funky dreams.

Like this one:

There is a knock at the door. I open it, and the hospital pediatrician is there. The one who didn’t approve of me. She is flanked by scowling nurses in their scrubs.

“You took home the wrong baby!!” they screech.

Oh, I say. Really?

In response to their demands, I produce the infant.

“How could you not know this is the wrong baby?”

I don’t know. I mean, I knew she didn’t look like anyone in our family, but I thought that was okay.

“Yes, but how could you not notice THIS??” they ask. They open her diaper and reveal a penis.

Damn. They have me there. I really should have noticed that one.

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