Nuttin’ but love
When I was initially shopping for an ob/gyn-type person, I never considered a midwife, mostly because while I have very few things I’m seeking in a birth plan, access to drugs is number one on the list, and many, if not most, of the local midwife practices are all home-birthy and stuff, or at least discourage epidurals. (At the risk of stereotyping, this IS Vermont, you know. I could probably walk outside and throw a rock and it would land on the home of someone who homebirthed, which is way cool, but SO NOT FOR ME. AM TOO TERRIFIED.)
And, well, I wanted access to a doctor that knew me, and could see me before AND after, like a regular old gynecologist and stuff. But! I also wanted some of the touchy-feely midwifery stuff, and as luck would have it, my PCP was able to refer me to a mixed practice with two midwives and four doctors. And I … I strongly prefer the midwives. Go figure.
They’re just so relaxing! And soothing! And, perhaps most importantly, they seem to take the same approach to weight that I do in life, which is to say if the person/mother and baby are healthy and happy, then there is no problem. I was so cheesed off by the hypnotherapy recommendation from the last doctor (who I did not like! NO LIKE!) that I neglected to mention that she snidely commented on my ten-pound weight gain in one month, without even CONSIDERING the fact that I’d spent the majority of the pregnancy puking and losing weight, and for the first time, I was actually EATING SOMETHING.
As in, when I said I was finally no longer nauseated, she sniffed and said, rather snarkily, “Well that explains the ten pounds. You might not want to keep that up.”
And then I shot her. Except not really, of course, but I did notice that she was Giada-thin, caked in makeup and wearing a see-through gold sweater, and thought, huh. Perhaps we don’t share the same body image-slash-beauty ideals. Plus, you know, my GOD, it’s not like I was on some kind of WEIGHT GAINING SPREE until that point, and besides, as a healthy person with a reasonably healthy weight who’s been told that she’s both too thin AND too heavy during pregnancy — SOMETIMES DURING THE SAME DAY — I felt that her comments were a bit out of line, doctor or no.
Not that it matters, but I’ve changed precisely nothing about my eating habits between my last two check-ups, and gained precisely two pounds this time. So, to the lollipop-headed doctor — and anyone else who wants to give a pregnant woman shit about her weight — I say suck it, and while you’re at it, choke on it. Bodies do what they are meant to do, period, and unless you hear rumors that the woman is sitting in front of her television with a jar of Hellman’s, you might want to keep your trap shut.
Pregnancy is not the time to give a shit about your weight. Hell, as long as you’re taking care of yourself and are healthy and happy, LIFE is not the time to give too much of a shit about your weight. I’m not opposed to controlling your weight and exercising — hell, I am a HUGE FAN of Weight Watchers — but like I said, one must be reasonable, and do it for the right reasons. And those reasons do not include a slim pregnancy for the hell of it, is what I’m saying.
I’ve mentioned this before, but my complaint in feeling huge has little to do with what I look like, and more to do with what I can and can’t do. That does not, however, mean that I didn’t die a little inside when I asked Adam how much he weighed and realized that before this pregnancy is out, I WILL ECLIPSE HIM. Uh, ha ha?
This is all a long way of saying that my midwife was perplexed, then started laughing when I mentioned the last doctor flagged my weight, and announced that she didn’t care if I gained sixty pounds, as long as we were all healthy. And then I made out with her right then and there. But not enough to forgo an epidural or anything.
Whatever. There’s a WHOLE OTHER PERSON in there. (Clicking brings you to Flickr. I just didn’t feel like futzing with the size this time.)
In other news, I don’t have gestational diabetes, and I did eventually throw up after sucking down the Glucola, but NOT IN THE CAR. Victory!
Happy Friday! Who’s ready to drive an hour and forty to GO TO THE MALL? (SHOOT ME.)
*Heavy D & The Boyz. Oh, I kill me.
28 comments December 18th, 2008