Being pregnant with twins brings lots of looks from
well-meaning people. Ok, not all are well meaning but morbidly fascinated with
the sheer size of you. I had a doctors appointment one day and my husband was
walking me to the elevator in the parking garage. I was waddling and gasping
for breath. One of the women in the elevator was looking at me with a cross of
sympathy and fear. I didn’t speak but merely held up two fingers. She nodded, I
nodded back; we understood each other perfectly.
When I was pregnant with my twins my doctor told me that one of them was breech (not head down) and he was the bigger baby so a C-section was in my future. I was fine with that, I was too damn big to care let alone disagree.
As I was
being prepped for my C-section I met one of my anesthesiologists. Young and
cute. As he was putting that huge freaking needle in my back for my spinal tap
I was wondering to myself about which bra I had on. Whew! It’s a pretty lace
one that is the most beautiful shade of periwinkle. Really? I am making sure
that I look cute and sexy for this guy, as he is about to help me in my journey
to deliver my twins. Sometimes we never stop wanting to be cute and check out
guys or to be checked out in return. Here I was, in all of my 240 pound glory,
about to become a mother again and the first thing I think of is ‘oh good, it’s
a pretty bra day.’ That pretty bra didn’t help me out at all after my twins
were out and one of my doctors told me that they were going to be putting my
uterus back in and had to push on my stomach some so I might feel a little
nauseous. I proceeded to puke my guts out. A little nauseous? I’d hate to see
what ‘as nauseous as you could ever possibly be, on your worst day, in your
entire life’ looks like because I swear to God that was the level I was at. And
who, of all the people in the operating room, got to hold my bucket? You got
it, hot anesthesiologist guy. Bet the whole time I was vomiting for him he was
thinking about that sexy bra of mine. Oh yeah, he missed out on this
sophisticated lady for sure and her sexy, lacy periwinkle bra.
When I found
out I was pregnant with my first child I decided on seeing a midwife. I didn’t
care for the nurses in the other practices and fortunately was pointed in the
direction of the midwives in the same offices. I was not a high risk pregnancy
so that meant I met the criteria. As my first husband and I waited in the
office for my first appointment I did wonder what I was getting myself into.
‘Midwife’? But I am open minded and so why not? Apparently this is something
that my two midwives had encountered before. As the first one walked in and
introduced herself she asked if we had expected her to be sporting a headband
and bellbottoms. Of course I said no, I didn’t want to irritate the woman who
may be in charge of getting me my drugs in the future. I did picture a hippy sort of chick, I must admit, and I'm willing to bet that at one point in their lives both these ladies sported tie-dyed something or other.
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