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.

Over the Hill

Michael and I have a firm agreement in place when it comes to bringing The Bean to various appointments and engagements. I am to handle all appointments involving needles and he is to handle all appointments involving ice cream.

I watched him nearly faint dead away when The Bean was getting her jaundice heel clips that first month and I took pity on him. Why yes, sucker IS tattooed on my forehead, why do you ask?

Yesterday, The Bean turned the big 0-4......months.
(I'm sure I will use that joke again when she turns 4 years old. I ain't skeered.)

On top of our court visit for her to become an emancipated minor; we had a doctor's checkup. Which included weighing, measuring, eyeball checking and hip rotating. These activities apparently translate into infant amusement park. The Bean was all gummy smiles and coy giggles. I had to check the label and make sure I didn't pick up some other person's kid by accident.

But I was holding my breath. Because I am a mother. And a mother knows that at any minute the screams might start and on this particular day the probability for uncontrollable screams is near 99%.

The needles entered the room held innocently enough by a woman clad in happy jack-o-lantern scrubs. The Bean was mesmerized by the orange vomit explosion.

She was off guard when the first needle struck and the second one followed within nanoseconds. The nurse was a pro.

I braced myself.

The Bean turned violently purple.

And then she erupted with a short holler as if to say "do you KNOW who the hell you are messing with?!?!?!"

Then she got quiet...and angry.

She glared at the nurse, "Bitch. You distracted me with your hypnotic pumpkin voodoo shirt. I will SO not be giving you the satisfaction of crying. I save that shit for my mama."

I packed The Bean up and we went on our way.

We got to the car and I handed The Bean her stuffed bug-butterfly-alien-fish toy to occupy her on the way home; hoping a car meltdown wasn't in my future when she finally had a chance to think over the series of events which just occurred.

She bitched to that critter the whole way home. The tone of her babbles indicated she was informing that thing about the injustices of being only 14 lbs and unable to smack a ho.



You're getting a framed one at Thanksgiving, Mom. No need to print.



Mechanics

So, here I am today (sans makeup and any sort of hair styling--don't judge, you're lucky I got out of my pajamas):



Yes, I believe I have officially set the world record for largest boobs in the history of ever.

I am 36 weeks and some odd days into this pregnancy which means I am days away from being considered full-term. Good thing that's not a wildly horrifying and fear-inducing thought and doesn't set off the crazy monsters who live in my head.

So, I'm just a touch pregnant.

For the most part, there are pretty simple workarounds for dealing with the enormous growths taking over my (or what used to be my) body. Need to put on shoes? Easy enough, if you sit down and swing your legs up to the side. Drop something on the floor? No worries, it can live there until the baby is born.

But there is one activity which I MUST do every week and the workaround leaves a lot to be desired. So I welcome all thoughts and suggestions.

Each and every doctor's appointment from the onset of this pregnancy includes peeing in a cup.

Which is no problem when you don't have an unmovable mass of squirmy child sitting on your lap.

Figure 1:


But that's no longer the case. Now my arms no longer can make the trip to collect this weekly specimen using the usual path.

Figure 2:


Not a big problem because you can just go in from the side. Except. Well, it's a little difficult to see what's going on down below these days. I want you to go to the bathroom and close your eyes and attempt to pee into a Dixie cup.

How's that cup-holding hand doing?

Figure 3:


So, you have to get creative on how to make this all work. And can I tell you, that creative + pregnancy does not equal pretty?

Figure 4:


I'm turning to you interwebs. How do we perform this feat without (1) ending up with pee hands, (2) needing to perform advanced yoga moves, or (3) endangering myself or The Bean?

The Big Questions

Pregnancy has an amazing ability to transform people you once believed had a brain and were not raised by wolves into regressed turkeys with zero social filter. I mean that in the nicest way possible.

I expected a certain level of curiosity and forward questions to come along with being pregnant.

"Are you going to find out the gender?"
Yes. I will have enough surprises the day of labor; I don't need the gender to be another one. Happily at our doctor's appointment this morning they fixed the antenna on the ultrasound machine and we saw an actual baby inside me and not cheese enchiladas as Michael suspected.

We are growing a little girl. Look! Here she is, aged 21 weeks and weighing in at a whopping 13 ozs.!!!



"So what are you going to name her?"
We're superstitious and will not be sharing the names with everyone. Everyone has an opinion on names and we, quite frankly, don't care about those opinions. We will have a group of names and pick one that strikes us the day she's born. So most likely it will be GetItOut, LizardFace or NowCanIHaveWine.

"So how much weight have you gained?"
Shockingly, this one doesn't bother me. Probably because I've only gained 3 lbs. so far and have discovered the joys and wonders of maternity pants. I will gladly gain 50 lbs. because the new jeans I just bought from 'A Pea in a Pod' will STILL fit. I may never buy regular jeans again.

However, I was ready for these questions. It's the more well-intentioned, yet slightly off-putting questions I was not prepared to answer. Here are just a handful that we've collectively gotten.

"Did you even want kids?"
No. But we're telling everyone about the pregnancy because we're hoping someone might offer to buy her from us.

"Oh, a girl...how is Michael taking it?"
We all know men only love boys; so he's pretty pissed off. See above regarding sale of said child.
[Michael and I are both thrilled that we have a healthy baby growing. Gender did not matter to us. That said, he is currently installing a machine gun turret on top of the house and he added La Femme Nikita to the list of potential names.]

"Are you planning on breastfeeding/co-sleeping/getting a nanny/etc."
Last I checked, this was none of your damn business (barring close friends and family who will be helping to raise this child) and quite frankly your thoughts on child-rearing mean absolutely nothing to me. What did your parents do? I'll make sure to do the opposite.

With the halfway point passed, the bean is back to continually making her presence known. Instead of the perpetual morning sickness of the first trimester, we have constant heartburn. Granted, I should probably lay off the hot sauce (but it's so damn good) and invest in some Tums (but it causes constipation--so, no thank you).

We're eagerly awaiting her kicks and thumps, but for now there are just hints of "was that a kick," "is that a gas bubble" and "is it time for bed yet?"

It's Time to Glow

Welcome Week 16 and what my doctor and the nurses told me were the "glowing" weeks of pregnancy.

If by glowing they meant no sleep, instantaneous fluctuations from freezing cold to sweating, bloating of ridiculous proportions, the whole no pooping thing and a desire to sit around and do nothing...then yes, I'm glowing.

There's a lot of hurry up and wait in pregnancy. You go to the doctor's office every 4 weeks for a check up to make sure everything is progressing. That sounds like a lot of visits...before you realize you are growing ANOTHER HUMAN BEING.

I freak out over watering my plants...I'm pretty sure we should be checking in on a baby a little more frequently.

I had an appointment today. One I was anxiously awaiting since it had been 4 weeks since my last check-in and in the beginning of the second trimester you barely feel pregnant. (Who knew dry heaving could be so comforting?) So I wanted to get in there and hear the heartbeat doing its thing.

Here's what I spent 4 excruciating weeks awaiting:

8:45 - Check in with reception
9:00 - Nurse calls me in
9:02 - Pee in cup for 1 billionth time this pregnancy
9:03 - Blood pressure taken
9:04 - Vial of blood stolen
9:05 - Lay on table anxious to hear a heartbeat
9:06 - Heard strong, little heartbeat and is buttoning up pants
9:07 - Can't think of a single question to ask the doctor (apparently they've done this before)
9:08 - Scheduled next appointment
9:11 - In car ready to drive home
9:30 - Convinced I've ruined everything in the last 19 minutes and start to anxiously await next appointment

Maybe the Antenna's Broken?

* Since we kept this whole "situation" under wraps for awhile you'll notice I'll be jumping back and forth between current and past moments throughout the pregnancy. You're bright people; I'm sure you'll keep up.

For a person who makes a living conducting and analyzing research, I do shockingly very little of it in my day-to-day life. So when the little sticks from CVS kept telling me I really was pregnant, I did what any uninformed woman does: I called the doctor to make sure.

Once on the phone, I proudly announced to the receptionist that I had peed on a stick and it told me I was pregnant, but I wanted to make sure. How soon can they cancel all their other appointments to make room for my urgent need to know if the sticks were lying?

Imagine my shock when she told me, "Yep, you're pregnant. Those sticks are rarely wrong. Particularly when they tell you it's positive. We'll see you in six weeks."

I'm sorry. Maybe you can speak into my good ear. I'm pregnant. Don't you need to see if I look pregnant and give me a long list of stuff I can no longer enjoy? Maybe I should just go to Labor & Delivery now to wait the whole thing out?

Despite my initial shock of how long I had to wait, do you think in those six weeks I scoured the internet and the bookstores to get myself acquainted with the concept of being pregnant and what I might expect? Exactly. I went to a number of Halloween parties, catered a wedding, participated in a Chili cook-off and forgot to do any research before my first doctor's visit.

Turns out the doctor does the same test I did to see if I was pregnant. I peed in a cup and she stuck a test in. Yep. Pregnant.

We're sitting in her office and she's calculating my due date when she's suddenly called away for an emergency delivery. "No problem" she says, "I'll send you for your ultrasound while you wait for me to get back."

"Excellent!" I say...then think to myself, "What the hell is she talking about?"

Off I go to ultrasound. No problem. I've seen this on those TLC shows and in movies. They get the wand. They get the jelly. They rub said wand over your belly and everyone gets excited looking at the TV screen.

Um...the wand...yeah...turns out it doesn't go ON your belly. Oh sure, it does eventually, but that's only after it's shoved halfway up INside you for a tour. Wish I had looked that one up.

But I act cool and don't act as though I've just been violated. "At least the nurse will let me see the TV screen soon and I'll see a baby, well just a zygote, but I'll see it. THEN this will all feel real. Why is she making that face? You know. That face you make when you drop a pin in the shag carpet and need to find it before someone steps on it. That face. I knew it! The sticks lied and I've just been gassy this whole time. I'm not even pregnant!"

The nurse then said a whole bunch of medical words like "elongated uterus," but I think I must've passed out from embarrassment because I'm quite sure my uterus has never been a topic of conversation before. She then tried the wand ON the belly technique and her eyes lit up.

I got excited, "Here it comes. I'm going to be able to go home and tell Michael how I saw a little tadpole or a fish or something!"

She turned the TV to me and this is what I saw:

Nurse: See right here (pointing at static) that's the egg sac.

Me: Sorry I blinked. Can you point it out again?

Nurse: Right here (pointing at static nothingness). See?

Me: (wanting at all costs to avoid looking like I don't see it) Oh....wow...

Nurse: And right here (more static and fuzz), this is the embryo.

Me: (squinting because maybe it's like those 3-D pictures that pop out at you) That's amazing...

Nurse: And here (101 Dalmatians in a blender) you can see the flicker of the heartbeat already.

Me: (totally giving up) Yep. Wow. So it all looks good?

Nurse: Excellent. We'll see you in another four weeks.

Me: Great! What will be doing at that visit?

Nurse: Just a pap smear.

Me: ...goody...