I know we all say that from time to time, but this past week, I felt it harder than I have probably at any juncture in my life. This week, I “turned” twenty weeks pregnant. That means I’m halfway through, guys. In twenty short weeks (or less), I’m going to have a smiling, burbling, crying, pooping, drooling, little baby named Jack to take care of and I AM SO EXCITED. It’s like Christmas, only better, because you know exactly what you’re getting and what you have to look forward to (what? I was a weird kid who didn’t like surprises).
I spent this past week looking at the places that I’m going to register for my baby shower, thinking about the infant furniture that we’d given away after my daughter outgrew it, and inventoried what big purchases we’d need to make in between now and then. The fun begins!
This week’s doctor’s appointment was a waste. A waste of time. I know my mother freaked out when I made that comment in her presence (she clutched her throat and said, “But honey, they’re all so important!”), but it’s the truth. I showed up, they weighed me (only seventeen pounds gained so far and that is FINE by my standards, especially comparing it to last pregnancy AS IF I THAT SHOULD EVEN BE A WORRY) and I sat in the room for twenty-five minutes. The doctor came in, asked my 3-year-old daughter if she had any questions, to which she shook her shy head ‘no’ and blushed, pulled out the fetal heart monitor and said ‘Well it sounds like a girl, but who knows’ (seriously clueless sometimes, you know?), asked me if I had any questions and sent me away. As in out to the check-out desk to make the next BS appointment in a few weeks where I’m sure they’re going to do the same thing, God willing I have no medical issues in between now and then. This has just got to be payback for refusing a pap test during pregnancy time and time again. I mean, stranger things have happened, you know.