what happens when dr. dad gives you an ultrasound

Turns out it's pretty handy to grow up with a dad who is also a doctor. Like when you're in high school and the plastic cover on the fluorescent light falls off of the ceiling and hits you, you can run home for lunch and get stitched up at the kitchen bar all at the same time, only missing 4th period.

By default you also grow up with a really strong stomach (I mean, how else could you eat lunch and watch your hand being stitched up at the same time?). Needless to say, our regular dinner conversations were anything but regular. ...you mean other families don't talk about oozing, bleeding body orifices and really regrettable diseases that they encountered at work that day over a nice casserole? 

Another really cool thing about "Dr. Dad" is when you're pregnant and visiting your family, you can get free ultrasounds of your baby bean! And so we did. 

 Isn't it so alien and CUTE?! 

We went to visit my dad at work one day to have it done, and the whole family traipsed in behind us- one of those family members being my older bro, Ryan, who is currently a 3rd year med student (do we see where this is going yet?).

So my dad starts the ultrasound, finds the baby, makes a few high pitched "ooohhs and aahhss" (still very much in "Papa" mode) shows us and points out the heartbeat while James snaps a few blurry iPhone pics and then BAM. It happens. 
The switch flips. 
I've noticed this happen more often as my brother gets farther into his own medical career...more "doctor talk" and "teaching opportunities". This was no exception. It was dad mode to doctor mode. Quicker than a 50 cent hooker gets syphilis (Oh, Dr. Dad also teaches you really useful analogies).

"So Ryan what organ do you see here? Good! Now see if you can find the ovary, it looks like a chocolate chip cookie."

....A chocolate chip cookie? Really? Really Dad? 
"Ooohh yeah there it is! Cool!" 

I'm all for the teaching of young and eager minds, but when you're looking at and exposing my reproductive organs to my older brother, please don't say they resemble one of my favorite desserts. 
RIP chocolate chip cookie.
I will never be able to eat you again without me imagining myself snarfing down on my own ovary.
(And now, neither will you. You're welcome.)

At this point Ryan may have taken over the ultrasound probe...I can't remember...I was still mourning the instant loss of my love for chocolate chip cookies, when he excitedly pipes up and says, "Hey Whitney, wanna see the top of your rectum?" 

 For the love, please don't compare it to chocolate cake. 

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