Yes I'm Broken, But No Biggie

Today I had my 6-month postpartum OB/GYN appointment at 7 months postpartum because I am incapable of keeping anything on a schedule these days.

During my 3-month hiatus (an eternity when compared to the weekly visits that were the routine previously), I had become an outsider to the mommy-to-be club and forgot to bring along my visitor's pass (The Bean) to prove I was once a member of the club. So while everyone stared at me wondering what rare disease I was battling, I smugly enjoyed how, at least, I wouldn't have to pee in cups or get blood drawn like in the good ol' days.

7 months later and I'm still peeing in cups.

As I was ushered into the examination room, I was told to "strip down to nothing; the gown opens to the front and there's a blanket for your legs." Apparently the healthcare industry has been hit hard in the economic downturn. For as I was standing there in my socks, I looked around for the "gown" and "blanket" and could only find a vest made out of paper towels and a roll of toilet paper I presume was my "blanket."

And, as if it couldn't get any worse, the paper towel vest was circa 1984 as evidenced by the rocking shoulder pad structure.

Sort of like this, but with less sleeves and more paper towels.

OK fine. I couldn't help myself and had to take a picture. You are welcome. You're also welcome that I took the photo with my pants on and not while I was sitting on the table with my toilet paper "blanket." Because we all know how attractive THAT would've been.

Totally rocking like Grace Jones

The three minutes you are forced to sit on the examination table in this getup feels like an eternity. I'm surprised more women haven't killed themselves from the exponential reduction in self esteem that happens with every passing second. I was practically in the stirrups with the vagina car jack inside me just to make this appointment go as quickly as possible.

Do you know how hard it is to carry on a small talk conversation when one is wearing only a paper towel vest? Very.

Anyway, I got official word today that there was no way my child, or any other, was going to pass through my loins. All my little girl bits turn up in a weird place (who knows what that means, I wasn't stopping for questions, there was a paper towel vest I needed to get off my body) not to mention a very narrow bone structure that would not allow a child to escape through my laughably petite pelvis.

Glad they found that out now. I wouldn't have wanted to miss those fourteen hours of contractions and two hours of pushing.

On the up side, I'm back on the grown up version of birth control since we've weaned The Bean from the boobs. So hopefully I can stop feeling like a junior high schooler every month who needs to visit the nurse's office because her cramps are so bad.