The Pregnant Lady's Perspective

A Week of The Big Interview

What did you guys do this week? Well, we here at the Taylor-Spangenberg residence fretted and prepared and worried and traveled to DC for my husband to attend The Big Interview. You know the one, the one that you’re totally surprised you’ve even gotten it? Where you wonder, “What the hell is this Fortune 500 company even THINKING in considering to hire me in an executive capacity?” We’ve probably all been there, have suffered through five rounds (no, seriously – FIVE ROUNDS) of interviews, and we’ve all gone through either the elation or massive disappointment of not getting said job.

Well, we traveled to DC, my husband kicked the interview’s ass, and now? Well. It’s the waiting game. It’s the shake-your-cell-phone-and-yell-RING! game. It’s the Why-haven’t-they-called-yet? game. The I-know-we’re-not-supposed-to-get-a-call-’til-Monday-but-I’m-fantasizing-anyway game.

Needless to say, each time the phone rings, it’s like a small bomb goes off somewhere in the house and we both duck and cover in an effort to grab it.

That aside, today is twenty-three weeks of pregnancy. Twenty-three weeks. Where did the time go? I’ll tell you where it didn’t go – to the doctor’s office, which I hop in my car and drive thirty to forty minutes to, only to wait another thirty, to be seen for five. This last week’s appointment went something like this:

“Hi, Sarah. [Doctor pauses while he consults his clipboard] … It is Sarah, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“How are we feeling today?”

“Well … good. I feel good.”

“Good. Let’s listen to the baby’s heart. [Lubes up the the fleshy bowling ball known as my stomach and applies the doppler] Good. Sounds good. Very normal.”

[I smile wanly]

“Now, let’s measure your belly. [Pulls out measuring tape and measures said bowling ball] Good. Baby’s not getting any smaller.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I.” [Both laugh politely]

“Good. Okay. Good. See you next month, and then it’s every two weeks after that visit.”

“Oh good.”

And that entire exchange takes about three to six minutes, perhaps. I think I spend more time at the check-out window trying to schedule my ultrasounds and appointments on the same day to “save” time. I know I shouldn’t be complaining, since they are taking the time to make sure my baby isn’t growing a second head, but could we be a little more personable? Make small chit-chat? Offer to, I don’t know, do a better job wiping the K-Y off my belly and help me off the damn table? Maybe I’m a little over-emotional, and maybe it’s got to do with wondering whether or not my husband Got The Job, but seriously. My next baby, if there is a next baby? Will be exclusively managed by another OB practice. My goodness.