Six Weeks, Give or Take

Procrastination and I go way back. It was probably the worst in college, when I ended up pulling many an all-nighter to do a project handed out weeks in advance. (However, the chocolate-chip-cookie dough I consumed in the process made it all worthwhile.)

As each of my sweet babies has entered our family, procrastination has, by necessity, given way to (slightly) greater efficiency, as I've discovered that to preserve my sanity, I've needed to start planning ahead on occasion.

Except when it comes to certain medical appointments, apparently.

About 2 weeks ago, I called my OBGYN with a question. The nurse politely inquired, "Have you been in for your 6-week check-up?" I stammered and stuttered for a couple of seconds, and then out came just about the lamest reply I could have imagined giving: "Well. . . not yet. "I see", she said, and then asked, "And when was the baby born?"

Gulp. "October 3rd", came my guilty response.

LONG pause. "So it's been about . . . seven months?"

"Yeah, I guess I . . . forgot." The truth is, I really had forgotten for about the first 2 months, then put off calling for the next 2 months, and by then I reasoned, at this point, why bother?

Her voice took on the same tone I often use with my children. "Well, why don't we just set up an appointment, and when you come in you can talk to the doctor about all your questions."

Which is why I found myself, at 10:00 this morning, sitting in the OB's office filling out a bunch of forms about my last cycle and whether or not I have severe cramping or get excessively thirsty.

I was ushered into a tiny room to wait for the doctor. Now, here's what I just don't understand. They're always (at least in my experience) telling you to "just relax" all through this very unnatural procedure involving metal forceps and other rather large torture devices. So, to achieve this goal, they stick you in a tiny room where the temperature is just above the freezing point and tell you to remove all of your clothes. They give you a gown that feels as if another couple of washings just might disintegrate the thing, and a paper covering, and then . . . . they leave you alone with your thoughts. I'm not sure how long I sat in that little ice box of a room, trying unsuccessfully to huddle under a paper blanket about the size of a hand towel. But I believe this experience alone may have convinced me once and for all to stop having babies.

I should point out that I actually really like my OB and the nurse that assists him, and have known them both well for quite some time. So it didn't turn out too badly. It's the anticipation that kills me. (and the cold)

After that, the day got decidedly better. I picked up the kiddos from Grandma's house, and since Rachel was taking the bus to school with a friend, we didn't have to worry about rushing back home, so we all went to a local park and drank frappucinos. I let the kids drink about half of mine before I remembered it was full of caffeine. Needless to say, no one took a nap except Malachi.

All in all, not a bad day. Truth be told, I'd take a "6-week" appointment over a visit to the dentist any day.