Blissfully Pregnant- My Foot!
Apr 08 '03
The Bottom Line Please tell me that it gets better...
I have decided that pregnancy is a cruel joke. I don’t understand it. Pregnancy is supposed to be this beautiful time of preparation and expectation. Instead- we spend the first three months in the bathroom, the next three months pondering the ‘big things’, and the final three (or so) months telling the baby to come out, please just come on out!
The Bathroom is My Friend
One of the earliest symptoms of pregnancy is ‘frequent urination.’ Oh please- why not just tell the truth and be done with it? It’s not ‘frequent’- it’s almost constant. There are times that I finish in the bathroom, wash my hands, and as I’m turning to leave- feel that urge again. I swear- the baby has to be using my bladder as a trampoline. There really is no other explanation for it. I mean, I haven’t had anything to drink while in the bathroom, so where the heck is this urge coming from?
And while we’re in the bathroom, let’s talk morning sickness. That’s another joke. I love it when some other pregnant woman, about two weeks farther along than me, says ‘Oh, I just told myself that I wasn’t going to get morning sickness, and I didn’t.’ Spare me. I may sound cynical- but I just happen to think that since I spend my entire morning either peeing or puking (and let’s face it- that’s how I spend most of my days now) that I’m allowed to be cynical. It’s my right as a cranky, hormonal pregnant woman. My favorite thing about morning sickness is the name. Where do they come up with ‘morning’ anyway? If I was only sick in the mornings, I’d spend the entire morning in bed and still be able to function the rest of the day. But nope- I’m one of the lucky ones. I have all day sickness. It’s right about this time that I start thinking that pregnancy isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be…
The First Prenatal Visit
Let’s talk about something that every pregnant woman goes through- The First Prenatal Visit. Following visits aren’t that bad (until you reach the third trimester- when they start cervix checks). I just had my First Prenatal today. I forgot just how fun it really is! I mean- I get to pee in a Dixie cup. I don’t care what they say- there is no possible way to pee into a Dixie cup and not get it all over your hands. You would also think that this would be easy, since I practically live in the bathroom. Ha! It seems that the only time that I don’t have to pee is when I see that little Dixie cup in the window. Okay- so I made it through the Dixie cup with just a little bit on my hands. But what comes next? The oh so wonderful weight check. Any self respecting guy knows that women tend to be a little self conscious of their weight. The scale in my doctor’s office is located at the back of the hallway, with examine rooms all around it. Behind that scale is a picture of a pregnant woman- one of those side views, that shows what your baby looks like at different stages. Ok- so that is a nice touch, when they announce my weight. Although this tends to backfire in the first trimester- I mean, I can’t justify any weight gain because the baby is the size of a lipstick! I’ve never once had the nurse ask me to remove my lipstick from my pocket, because my weight seems a little high.
My next favorite part of the First Prenatal is the breast exam and pap smear. Not only am I expected to sit around wearing a paper vest, but they hand me a paper towel to cover my lap, then leave me- alone and freezing- for thirty minutes. When the doctor finally makes her entrance, I’m shivering, and not smiling anymore. I’ve read the magazines in the office (why do pregnancy magazines always show toothpick women with bellies the size of a grape?), I’ve counted the spots on the ceiling tiles, I’ve shifted positions exactly 96 times, and by the way- I have to pee- again. I’m ready for things to be over with. The doctor has other plans- family health history, pregnancy history, will I breastfeed, circumcise, etc. I’m also told to walk five miles every day. Ok, fine- can we get this over with? Because- you guessed it- I really need to pee.
The actual pap smear isn’t that bad if you don’t mind someone sticking a cold metal tool up your wahoo. It probably wouldn’t be that bad, if they didn’t have to crank the tool open to ‘get a better view.’ And that’s not all. When the doctor is done with the pap smear, and after she removes the tool- she wants to check the size of your uterus. This isn’t the typical pressing on my belly check. This is fingers going where the sun doesn’t shine and pressing on my belly at the same time. You definitely learn a new definition to ‘poking and prodding’ when you go for your First Prenatal visit.
This all wouldn’t be so bad if we could at least hear the heartbeat. It would sort of make this all worth it. But I’ve never heard the heartbeat at a First Prenatal visit. This time was no exception. I think that when the baby isn’t doing jumping jacks on my bladder, that he or she is playing hide and seek with the Doppler. We heard plenty of placenta, but no baby. I could have done without the running commentary from the doctor though (placenta, Mom’s heart, placenta, placenta, oh! No, that’s Mom’s heart).
Next- I’m allowed to get dressed. Am I done? No- now I have to go have blood drawn. I don’t understand this. I have two arms. One arm is bad for taking blood. I tell them this every time, and they still try that arm first. They don’t switch to the other arm until I start to faint. And it never fails- I always hear ‘You should have told us first.’ Well, duh! Why did you think I said ‘Please use my right arm’?
I’m finally finished. I schedule my next appointment, pay my bill, and run out of the doctor’s office. I don’t want them to call me back to say that they didn’t take enough blood, or that they forgot to do something. All this fuss- and nothing to show for it. Maybe next week, when I go back for a heart tone check, I’ll have something to show for all my efforts. Maybe next week, I won’t be so cynical.
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fallyn96
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Member: Tracey
Location: Illinois
Reviews written: 263
Trusted by: 104 members
About Me:
Insanity is hereditary. You get it from your kids.
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