I had my monthly OB appointment today, and the baby seems fine!
The appointment itself had some ups and downs. I was running late, and got a bit frazzled when faced with a crowded parking garage. By the time I made it to the office, I had to pee, which is great, because that's the very first thing you do at each prenatal check-up-- provide a urine sample.
I sat on the toilet, relieving myself and also feeling relieved to have made it reasonably on-time despite a 30 minute fight with traffic. I looked down at the Dixie cup in my hand. Empty. I had peed all right, but I'd forgotten to pee in the cup.
Now, I am a prolific urinator, pregnant or not. Ask anyone who has been on a car trip with me. Just thinking of a waterfall or a raindrop will make me have to go. So, I sat there visualizing Niagara Falls, the ocean, and a tall glass of water, to no avail. I soon realized I'd have to wait a while before providing a sample.
Back in Reception, I explained my failure to produce and asked if I could please have a glass of water. Not a problem, they said. You might think a pre-natal appointment would be extensive, giving me ample time to work up a good pee, but I wasn't so sure. Because rather than gathering 'round me oohing and ah-ing, treating me like the Advanced Maternal Age Walking Miracle that I find myself to be, the professionals act, well, as if they've seen this kind of thing before, and this isn't the first baby to come around the bend. Thus, early visits are a quick blood pressure and fetal heartbeat check, a smile, and a "See you in a month." This is a blessing, because it means things are going well, but it didn't provide much time for the water to work its way through my system.
No fear! I KNEW I could produce. My bladder was filling by the second.
So, I said good bye to the nurse and headed back into the bathroom. However, I hadn't counted on the time and skill it would take for me to wrassle myself out of various pregnancy undergarments while clutching a Dixie cup.
First there were the maternity jeans that come up to my chest.
A squeezy support tube top around my middle.
And the piece de resistance-- something that resembles a chastity belt, but that I like to fondly call The Vulva Holster, a utilitarian maze of straps and velcro designed to try to keep one's lady parts from dragging the ground whilst one walks. Mothering often robs us of our dignity, so why not start in utero?
I was doing fine with the wrangling, but I clearly did not expect what happened next.
As a germaphobe, especially around medical offices, I carry a jumbo pump bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse, to be used obsessively throughout my visits. My purse, weighed down by the pump, as well as my fears, jumped from the hook high on the door. Down it came, clocking me on the head and scattering my wallet and all the other contents onto the RESTROOM FLOOR.
At this point, the precious drops of liquid gold I'd worked so hard to produce over the last half hour did burst forth, not into the Dixie cup, but into the multitude of undergarments with which I struggled.
I wanted to seize my personal items from the floor, hoping that the faster I did it, the less germy they would become, but I was here to give a urine sample, and I wasn't leaving until I did. So I lunged back over the pot and managed to secure the remaining pee in the Dixie cup.
Since I couldn't celebrate this small triumph with a glass of wine or even a McDonald's iced tea because of the caffeine, I treated myself to some quick thrift store shopping, where I scored some new-to-me maternity clothes.
And I only had to stop to use the bathroom twice.