“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said, slipping into the exam room.
The boy sat perfectly still, watching “Bluey” on an iPad propped against his stroller.
His mother looked exhausted. Coffee untouched. Diaper bag spilling open on the floor.
“It’s fine,” she said. “He didn’t even notice.”
I didn’t judge her. I couldn’t. I’ve handed my own toddler my phone at the dinner table more times than I’d admit to myself or my colleagues.








