Lame, Lame, Lame

I had my ‘first’ 'prenatal appointment' today, and man, was it disappointing. It was, in actuality, a cattle call for new preggers patients, and it was conducted similar to a multi-level marketing job interview (if you’ve never accidentally been on one, count yourself lucky, I’ve been suckered into three somehow in the past).

So it’s me and 5 other women ranging in age from like 28 to 42 (which was kinda cool), and their bored yet nervous husbands, and a nurse who spends a million years going over all the basics that everyone who has already read 47 pregnancy books should know; don’t eat the cat poo or unpasteurized cheese, cut out the crystal meth, a cup o’ joe won’t kill you so for god’s sake quit freaking out. Of course I’m the only one there with nausea, and my eyes well up every time she says something like ‘sardines’ or ‘eggs’. It’s very exciting because I thought the nausea was going away, especially after a quiet week last week, but it turns out it was only being well behaved for the training class; last night I made a lovely lemon chicken with rice soup, and about 5 seconds after I decided there was no way in hell I would be able to eat any, Quiet said, ‘Well, should we just go get McDonald’s…’ and I ran for the loo to upchuck nothing but clementines and grits. I ended up having some tasty plain white rice while Quiet enjoyed the avgolemono.

So my NEXT appointment, my first REAL appointment with an actual doctor, will be the exciting one. I’ll get to do the first trimester testing (at the convenient time of 8 am on a Friday morning), and I’ll be 12 weeks so I’ll get to have a bladder-busting ultrasound, and I’ll get to ask all my probing thought-provoking questions, like, ‘What is your cesarean rate?’ and ‘Do you think single mothers are dirty evil sinners?’