The Mailman Did It

We’re having a baby! Yes, it was planned. Yes, we’ve talked about names. No, I’m not going to tell you what they are.

I’m at the stage of pregnancy where I’ve gotten a tiny bit more of a belly. Not very noticeable yet, especially since it is mostly hidden by flab. I’m not very good at keeping information about myself secret so I told everyone about the pending baby almost immediately. So if you’re reading this now and you weren’t aware I was pregnant you didn’t make the list of the top 5000 people I’ve already blabbed the news to. Get over it. You weren’t the only one.

In Ontario a woman can choose her healthcare provider; midwife or obstetrician. I was lucky enough to find a wonderful team of midwives. I know you’re picturing granola-crunching, patchwork wearing, hairy armpit women but it’s not like that. Really. Of course the practice calls themselves the Collective and my sweet husband giggles at the name and mumbles about cults and covens. We are both happy with our decision to go with a midwife rather than an obstetrician. I’ve never had a lot of luck with doctors and although I know there are a lot of wonderful doctors out there I have yet to meet one.

In fact just this week I stopped by at a clinic with some minor symptoms. All the books I’d read had said these symptoms are normal, all the women I talked to with children said these symptoms are normal… I still wanted to be sure and since we didn’t officially have a midwife yet I thought, “Hey, there is a walk-in-clinic around here, I’ll just stop in to make sure all is okay.” Big F-ing mistake.

After waiting for an hour surrounded by sniffling sickly people and wondering if I was really in the best environment for a pregnant woman I finally got to see the almighty doctor. This guy listened to my symptoms and then without further ado told me to go home and stay off my feet or I might miscarry. No physical exam, no follow up questions, just a final terrifying recommendation. So what did my pregnant brain hear? “Go home and sit on your ass because you are killing your baby just by being here.”

So I left… in hysterics. I called my hubby and he said he’d meet me at home. I called my boss and he somehow managed to ascertain that I was going home… between sobs of course. Poor man. My husband met me at home with a big hug and all the phone numbers I could possibly need to get more answers. Long story short the midwife I spoke with calmed me down, told me that I was normal and that sitting around my house all day wasn’t going to make a bit of difference.

So in my life:
Doctor = End of the World style hysterics
Midwife = Calm

And to think… there is another 27.5 weeks of this stuff to write about. Good thing nobody reads this blog!

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