>Mom-mode Post # 2 – of how the doctor’s appointment went
August 14, 2009 § Leave a comment
>Perhaps another one of my many pet peeves is when people find out they are pregnant, all of the sudden a need to share every single and minor detail about it arises.
In order to spare you the pain of reading every minor detail of my new state, I equipped this post with a multiple-choice menu. And by multiple I mean two. Read each option and choose which option is best for you:
# 1 So if you couldn’t care less about how my routine doctor’s appointment went yesterday, STOP reading this post. RIGHT NOW. For I’m about to bore the life out of you. Go read a book or catch up on emails (www.gmail.com). Or go for a 30-minute walk, they say it’s good for your heart.
# 2 if you are bored at work/home and wish to waste precious minutes of your day, read on.
I was dreading yesterday’s appointment for a couple of reasons.
You see, ever since I found out I was expecting, every doctor’s visit has included some kind of prodding, poking and digging. I know it is all for the sake of mine and the baby’s health, but let me tell you, it ain’t no fun. They need a sample of this; they need to check on that. The list goes on and on. Needless to say I just wasn’t looking forward to that.
Another reason is the dreaded, horrid, treacherous weigh in. I know, I know, I am pregnant and I’m supposed to gain weight! Well, try telling it to my brain-washed head.
After getting on the cringe-inducing scale, I sat on that cold cot contemplating what had just happened. Every time my brain sees numbers going up on a scale, alarms go off telling me to go straight to the gym and stop eating immediately. I can’t help it. My stomach gets tied up in a knot and sweat profusely thinking about that last bite of cheesecake I had. I immediately go on diet-survival mode. Must lose weight. Now. Now! NOW! And that’s why I dread the weigh in. In fact I not only dread it, but I hate it with a passion. I even thought about writing sweet encouraging little notes to myself and spread it across my drawers of pants that no longer fit me, in an attempt to retrain my stubborn thinking that is okay to gain weight. Or perhaps I should just sue Gisele Bundchen for being so skinny.
Then the nurse walks in, all smiles, oblivious to the non-sense that is going through my head. She tells me to lie down, spreads some icky gel on my stomach and suddenly I hear it. A tiny heartbeat. Fast and furious. A tiny tear falls down my cheeks.
What was I dreading about this doctor’s visit anyway?