Shut Up and Tell Me That My Hair Looks Pretty

Have I mentioned how much I love my doctor? Because I do. Tremendously.

(No, not like that).

I always leave her office feeling completely awesome about myself. She’s always so happy about how my pregnancy is going and proud of how well I’m doing. I suspect that I am the secret beneficiary of her other patients taking really terrible care of themselves, but I will take compliments wherever I can get them. Being pregnant is such a weird state of limbo and so many people seem to have opinions that they absolutely must share with you… it’s nice to get a regular reality check that I’m not doing so terribly.

My belly is measuring right where it’s supposed to (26 centimeters at 26 weeks), which is great. Gummy Bear’s heartbeat is 160BPM, which is great. My glucose tolerance test results were right where they were supposed to be, which is great. I’m back to taking prenatal yoga classes and using the pool at the Y, which is great. She knows that I am good about listening to my body and taking appropriate care of myself, which is great.

I’m still slightly anemic and my platelet count is low, but even that is pretty common in pregnancy and not too much to worry about. I ate two hamburgers yesterday. You’re welcome, blood supply.

The best part about my appointment yesterday? I got a referral for another ultrasound. Next Thursday, we get to take another look at our little Gummy Bear. I hope s/he isn’t quite so shy this time around. I want to know for sure if we’re having a girl!

Being pregnant often feels like walking a rather narrow tightrope while friends, family and complete strangers shout in your face about how you’re POISONING THAT POOR BABY. OMG. Even when people are saying things in a well-meaning sort of way or making idle chitchat, it can be confusing and sometimes hurtful. Someone will tell you how tiny you are and then five minutes later you’ll run into someone else who will say how huuuuuuuge you’re getting. And then you scratch your head, stare in the mirror and second guess yourself as to just how big you are. At least, that’s what I do. Because I am sometimes rather shallow and I crave constant validation from loved ones and total strangers.

Just in case you were wondering the exact state of my neuroses, I am still thinking about the total stranger who came up to me as I was swimming laps last night and asked if it was really OK to be swimming. Because his wife is pregnant, you see. And he wants to know if it would be OK for her to be swimming. And then he looked at me incredulously when I said “yeah, it’s great for you and my doctor says that it’s wonderful for your joint and ligaments.” And then he said “really?!?!?” like I had just enumerated on the health benefits of black tar heroin during pregnancy. A normal person would have taken his question at face value (and felt silently bad for someone who has been reduced to asking strangers at the Y for medical advice) as an honest question. Or rolled their eyes at how ridiculously PA he was being if he really was being all Judgmental McJudgeypants.

I am not normal on a good day. And now I’m all hepped up on hormones and sleep deprivation. I’m still trying to figure out if he was being judgmental or inquisitive. And it is driving me nuts.

(Ok, nuttier).

Also, why do so many people just go ahead and assume that I’m pregnant? It doesn’t bother me, because there is an actual baby in there kicking at my bladder. But, they are lucky that I’m not an overweight girl who carries most of her weight in the belly area. I am already mentally preparing myself for people to make similar assumptions while I’m in the process of losing the baby weight. I might need to get a new button that says “Baby NOT on Board.”

And then there was the random patient at PT today who said, when I put on the bag with my “Baby on Board” button, “I had no idea you were pregnant.” Ummm… thanks? I still can’t tell if she thought I looked chubby or if that was her ham-fisted way of saying that I’m really small. Because I feel enormous these days.

It is always men who tell me that I am getting huge and make jokes about not going into labor right then and there. Always.

I have no idea if this is because women have been socialized to use tiny as a compliment or because men have no idea just how big a woman gets towards the end of her pregnancy. Either way, men of the world: you really need to knock it off. My doctor says that my fundal measurements are perfect. Don’t make me bust out the tape measure and demonstrate them to you. Because I will.

(No, I won’t).

This is all my long-winded way of saying that it was really damn nice to hear, objectively, from someone with an actual medical degree, that I don’t suck at pregnancy. That all of our quantifiable measurements are right where they’re supposed to be. That I can tell the next person who says something snarky about my size to take it up with my doctor. Because she thinks I’m awesome.

Note to self: form-fitting maternity shirts are a lot more flattering. Baggier isn't always better.