Thursday, February 4, 2010

My appointment with Snow White's 8th Dwarf

I sit here in my third trimester looking as though I could just about birth a 15 pound baby at any moment. I am officially uncomfortable.

I get that I am to eat so that this monster inside of me can thrive, but after I consume anything I literally feel as though my stomach is just going to bust open at the seams and explode all over the place. It's a bit of a graphic scene in my head, but don't worry, the baby is fine.

Today I went to the doctor. Saw the micro machine man. No really this doctor moves at a wickedly fast pace all of the time. And talks at warp speed. He delivered Ethan and in the throes of labor pain I asked him if he ever slowed down, and if he drove his wife crazy. He of course is efficient, I mean Ethan's birth was flawless, but just the same, every time I have an appointment with him it is like I have entered a cyclone and spit out in the reception area when it is all over. He's lucky I like him, and that he also looks like one of the seven dwarfs, otherwise we may have some issues to work through. An ob/gyn who talks a mile a minute and just may be the 8th dwarf, I am ok with this? Once again I will tell you that when you are in labor, you don't care who is on the receiving end. Preferably someone who can catch is the only requirement.

My appointment goes something like this:
I calmly get my blood pressure and weight taken, turn in my pee, and then I am led to the examine room by the nurse.

I literally step up on the little step to have a seat and he is in the room. Talking at least 89 miles an hour:
'O.k., everything o.k., any questions, concerns, what's going on, you feeling alright?'(At the same time, he is scanning the chart), 'Alright, looks good, had the 3 hour glucose, ugh, I hear that is as boring as watching paint dry, but you passed, so any thing else going on that I should know about? This is the third right, wow, you must be tired, oh look, who is this? Kendall, did I deliver Kendall? No, too bad, that's o.k.,the other doctors here are o.k., are you o.k.? And then he takes his first breath.

'Let's see, you are taking your folic acid, let me get a listen, lean back, whoa this sucker moves around a lot, huh? Your weight and blood pressure look good finally, that is good? You have any questions? April 25th is the due date? Wow, this one is going to be a big one, definitely over 9 pounds I am thinking. You o.k.? Let me measure the belly, yup definitely over 9 pounds is my guess. You think you will go early, no you didn't with your others, well that's o.k., you give me a call on the 26th alright?

Mind you, I have not said a thing other than, 'uh huh,'still.

'O.k., there is the heartbeat, you are in your third trimester so I should see you in 2 weeks. Yup, you will be 31 weeks then. Time flies when you are having fun. O.k., you o.k., have any questions for me? Any concerns?'

ME: 'I don't think so.'

'O.k., then you behave yourself and stay out of trouble and we will see you in 2 weeks.'

I look down at my belly and am reassured that there will be no getting into trouble since I move about as fast as a slug and am already knocked up.

As Kendall and I are standing in the reception area making my next appointments, he whizzes by, 'alright Diane, babies to deliver, see you tomorrow,' and he is out before the receptionist can even answer him.

God bless those women writhing in pain at that moment waiting for one of the doctors from the practice to arrive and put them out of their misery and extract a child. They are about to experience birth with the 8th dwarf, Speedy, before they can even bat an eyelash.

I will not be seeing him in 2 weeks mind you. I will see another doctor in the practice whose name Andy thinks is just hysterical in a 14 year old puberty stricken boy sort of way. I can't say the name on here, wish I could, but ask next time I see you ask me, or ask me on facebook, I suppose it is a bit of an unfortunate last name.

So dwarfs and weird names? I am ok with this? Well I have 2 children that lead me to have faith in them. Listen, they give me the o.k. for the epidural a little early, they listen to me whine about wanting to me induced when I am a week overdue, and they present beautiful and healthy children to me, what's not to like?

So unless there is an abdominal explosion here, I will have at the very least 11 weeks left. This is when I start to panic and look around the house, the baseboards that need wiping down, the baby stuff to gather. I don't even have diaper rash cream, and I want a new boppy, and I need to find a sling I like, and I really want two body pillows so I can sleep at night comfortably. Please, someone.

Someone tell my husband to pick two of these up for me, with pillowcases at Target, PRONTO! All I want is for my hips to have a break. Is that too much to ask?

This child also needs a coming home outfit. And am I really going to breast feed and pump? Cherie needs to get over her and provide me with a very candid tutorial on working this pump, which right now looks like a torturing device. I need to make room in the freezer for frozen breast milk. Yummy. Do I really want to feel like a cow? And I need to prepare meals, and I need new binkies. Why is it that with Ethan it all came together? Oh that's right because I had a baby already, it's been three years. A lifetime, well for maybe a bird, but still. Where is my swaddling blankets? And where is that thing that sucks boogers out of noses? And this kid needs socks, because Lord knows who ate the others, there are no matches.

See, see...this is why you stop at one. This is why in India pregnant women live with their mothers until birth. It's insanity.

1 comment:

Christine said...

"they" say the more you have, the crazier you get (as in, because you continue to want more)