FB Status: Someone light a candle for me. I have to take both the kids to the OB today, and I’m still required to be some-what naked.
Thank God someone who was religious and/or believes lit that candle. I got to stay fully clothed!
Matt had a last minute trip to Harrisburg for meetings, so he had to cancel on watching the kids for my appointment. Lucky me! I got to take the kids to my appointment! Jealous?
OB days are always hectic mornings. First of all, it requires that I shower. I only shower at the butt crack of dawn for work. Typically, I shower during Luca’s morning nap. So dragging my sorry behind into the shower at some ungodly hour isn’t my idea of fun. Especially when what will follow is nakedness, probing and being weighed. (And men thought they had it rough with their once a year prostate check. Bah.)
I piled the kids into the car with some extra time to spare so we could stop at the post office. Claire had painted a really cool photo frame for her Great Grandparents and drew some pictures, too. Claire had nagged me long enough about sending it out, so I figured, since it’s next door to my doctor’s office, why not stop?
See, I have a rule about going to the OB. First of all, I get weighed. So I wear the lightest clothes possible. Next, if I have to get naked (and I want to be able to do it quickly,) so I don’t have to worry about being walked in on whilst fighting a pair of jeans, I wear sweatpants. I’m no Twiggy these days, yet I still don’t need maternity jeans. But fighting with my fresh-out-of-the-wash jeans just isn’t my idea of fun. Or flattering.
So here we are at the post office. Me in my ‘Sunday best’ and the kids dressed seemingly normal, when I notice that Luca doesn’t have shoes on. The saddest part about that? I couldn’t remember if he took them off in the car or if I ever even put them on him in the first place. What does Mr. Wiggles want to do? Run around. Barefoot. In the Post Office. *sigh* It’s not bad enough that I look like a bag lady, now my kid is shoeless. Without shoes. Barefoot. In a public building.
On to the OB. I had my appointment time written down somewhere. I swear. At one point. I remember seeing a 9. So my superb thinking kicks in: Get there at 9! That way you won’t be late.
Genius. That’s me. Sherry, the most awesomest secretary/nurse in the world, knows me better than I know myself. She came out with the pee cup in hand and said, “You’re early, but we’re slow. Come on back!”
Peeing in a cup with two kids present: a retrospective. NOT FUN.
“Ooooh! What you doing, Mama?”
“I’m peeing in a cup.”
“I want to pee in a cup!”
“No, not today.”
“Because you don’t need to. You’re not here to see the doctor, Mama is.”
“Because there’s a baby in Mama’s belly.”
“Because I wanted it there.”
I turned around to find Luca wearing toilet paper like a beauty queen sash. When I went to tell him no, someone opened the bathroom door. I can’t remember if my pants were still around my ankles or not. Either way, free shows for everyone!
At the appointment, the we got to do my favorite thing of all time…hear the heartbeat.
Wooosh, wooosh, wooosh.
“Mama? What’s that sound?”
“It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
“Oh! I LOVE that baby! She’s my favorite!” (Claire is insistent that this is a girl.)
And at that moment, I wanted to cry. Up until this moment, I had been only slightly petrified about being a Mom for the third time. I’ve heard so many stories…so many horror stories. And while I’m not one to listen, I couldn’t help but hear. I don’t believe this kid is going to be the bain of my existence. And for those women who tell me that having a third kid ends your life, well, they probably shouldn’t have had that kid in the first place. But that’s just my thoughts on that.
My baby. My baby in my belly. It has a heartbeat and I heard it. It’s real. It’s really real!
I’m a damn fine Mom. And I’m going to continue to be a damn fine Mom. I just have to remind myself that from time to time.
And it took a 12 week old fetus to tell me.
See, I can listen!