No Way Out
After all the brouhaha after last night’s Bachelor, I kind of wish I’d watched it this season so that I, too, could be jam-packed with righteous indignation. Instead, I will have to live vicariously through Miss Banshee, who made me laugh out loud with repeated references to him as “The Douchelor.” Which, you know, is kind of awesome.
I went back to the doctor yesterday for the weekly check-up and really, one word: meh. See also: ow. No progress, not really dilated, was given pity figure for effacement, and so on. She actually suggested we make a fancy couples dinner date for our due date so that we wouldn’t be too disappointed when it comes and goes. Le sigh. I shall live to waddle another day.
What was fairly awesome, however, was at this stage of the game, Adam is coming with me to all my appointments in the unlikely event that they screech that I am mysteriously in labor without realizing it and AIEE, let us go to the hospital NOW NOW NOW!
And look, I maintain that the gynecologist’s office is rarely not funny, kind of like seeing people fall down. It just is. It’s almost ALWAYS funny, unless you’re there for something really and truly dire. Even if you’re Emily and the doctor heats up the speculum to a temperature that could cauterize noses, it’s still mildly amusing, at least in retrospect. For crying out loud, there are STIRRUPS involved and people are jamming things in places that should never have unwanted visitors. It has to be funny, otherwise it would be very, very pitiful and sad.
My friend Alex’s* wife is pregnant, as I’ve mentioned, and when I talked to him earlier this week, he announced that he had finally seen “the stirrups behind the green curtain” during her last ultrasound. Adam delivered further confirmation of this bizarre sense of mysticism yesterday when, after the nurse wordlessly left me with a paper sheet, I started to disrobe from the waist down.
“What … WHAAT? Oh my God, why are you taking your pants off? WHY ARE YOU TAKING YOUR PANTS OFF? OH MY GOD.”
So not kidding. You’d think I’d pulled out a pack of matches and lit the place on fire. Apparently, in Man World, you never take your pants off without instructions expressly demanding that you do so, and with explicit directions for precisely the point in the appointment that it is acceptable to do so. Or something. But I can’t help but think that he might be a wee bit traumatized and that this may have prepared him for the birth and not in a good way. I mean, he’d been to appointments with me before, but my pants stayed on until more recently, obviously.
Anyway! In exciting news, a piece of art arrived for the baby’s room done by the incredible hands of Lawyerish‘s mom herself and you guys, it’s amazing. It’s so amazing I wish I could take a picture of it and show you all RIGHT NOW, but unfortunately, Boy Scout Adam has the car packed and loaded for labor and the camera is IN THE BAG and God forbid we disturb the sacred birthing bag. Never mind that until yesterday the bag didn’t contain CLOTHES for me to go home in, because he didn’t think I needed them, NEVER MIND.
(Speaking of Lawyerish, did you know she’s back? Because she is and with all kinds of updates, both heartbreaking and hopeful.)
And finally, this evening I flicked on American Idol for no reason at all (I never watch it, and that will become clear in a moment) and found myself Tweeting that the dude who sang Mandolin Rain had “axe murderer eyes” and was all, what the hell’s with the guy’s EYES? He looks scary! Very scary! And mean!
Fortunately or unfortunately as these things go, I was about to launch off on something else when someone informed me that hi, um, he’s actually blind. Yes, BLIND. OH HI HO. Is there another pile of shit I can step in?
Please, someone let me know where I can show up for my sensitivity award, because clearly I deserve one.
*Alex, he of Facebook Mom fame. By the way, he informed me of a post I’d missed, wherein he mentions beer and she FAH-REEKS OUT on his public profile, screeching that he should not be drinking in front of his wife and for the love of God, doesn’t he know about FETAL ALCOHOL SYNDROME? BEER IS DANGEROUS. I guess through proximal osmosis. I don’t know.
**Peter Gabriel. Toying with the idea of whipping through the birth playlist until she’s actually out.
17 comments March 3rd, 2009