My original due date was June 13, 2008. Friday.
My original due date was Friday the frickin' 13th!
Luckily, they have changed that and now my new date is a less scary (just labor-terrifying) June 25th.
A few weeks ago Harry drove down to see the first ultrasound of lil' - Spawnie (for lack of a real name at this point). I was warned the day before that this ultrasound was to be - rather invasive. The technician walked me down the hall, told me to strip from the waist down and to pee in a cup that I would take with me to my doctor's appointment next door.
Harry sat on the chair next to my stirruped one and I worried that he would tip over as only about a sixteenth of one of his buttcheek's was perched on it. The technician began moving the weird wand around in my girl oraface reminding me, briefly, of my first sexual experience: pleasureless, uncomfortable and my feet were cold.
And there he was - little Spawnie - right on the screen. Heart beating like crazy and looking more than a little like a frog.
I really hope that similarity goes away, otherwise grade school will be tough.
"What is that little fluttery thing?" Harry asked, still dangling precariously on the gray seat cushion.
"THAT'S THE HEARTBEAT!" the nurse and I yelled at him. I expected to feel happy, shocked, pleased, or, at the very least, protective, of the tiny life that was forming inside me. However, all I could think was "Well, huh - it does exist... Would it be wrong to ask it to call me 'Holly' instead of - blech - 'Mama'?" Would it be wrong if I didn't want to be a mom? Was it too late to call a do-over? Can I escape to Disney World and get a job painting all the "It's a Small World" People neon colors instead? I don't think I'm ready for this.
Yet there he was - little Spawnie - beating his little heart out as if to say "Dude! Try to ignore me! I can hang out here for at least seven more months!"
Harry was speechless.
I was ready to put my pants on.
In the waiting area, I held my bag with my pee while Harry gushed over the grainy black and white pictures of our baby. I was still in shock but Harry's enthusiasm was more than a little contagious.
And then I sprung a leak.
I sat in the waiting room holding a bag of leaky pee while others were called back in front of me. Finally, I walked up to the window, holding the tiny white bag on a non-pee soaked corner. "Alright - this is my pee - which one of you girls want my urine?" A silent game of "not it!" happened between the five that were behind the counter. Finally, one little, and not very happy chick, took my pee.
The same non-happy nurse escorted us back to see the doctor. Soon after, a tall man popped through the door and introduced himself as "Dr. C."
After some cordial greetings he asked me about any problems I may be having.
"My vagina is - smelly," I blurted without even thinking. I had noticed it soon after I found out I was pregnant - not like fishy - just odd.
Turns out I have a bacterial infection - very common in prego women like me. He told me to eat lots of yogurt (gag!) and that it should correct itself.
After my first pap by a male while my hubby watched from the comfort of his own chair, I was ready to go.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked.
"Well, I've been poked, made to pee in a cup, which leaked on me and I just had to ask my doctor to smell my crotch," I yanked on my pants with a ferver. "I'm ready to go home."
Ah - the joys of pregancy!
What's next? I'll gain weight and get fat? Oh wait...