It's Not Polite to Stare

YES, for the love of all that's holy, I'm pregnant, all right? 13 weeks even. Because I've only been having people ask me since I was, what, eight weeks? As in, when my body completely failed to keep it a secret from anyone I came in contact with? Because all the fat that I used to try to stuff into my pants was pushed up and out by my watermelon-sized super uterus resulting in the Most Overflowing Muffintop Ever Vaulted Onto Mankind? Yeah.

See, I'm not as talented in the baby-hiding department as say, my friend, Jody. Jody walked into labor wearing the same pants she'd been wearing nine months prior. In fact, when she produced the baby at church, none of us believed it actually came out of her. She assured us it did. How she managed to hide that entire baby in there can only be explained by Jody's miraculous survival skills, seeing as how she obviously does not possess internal organs.

But I, on the other hand, do have all my parts in tact, and then some. When I was pregnant with Peawhistle I looked obviously pregnant by 12 weeks and had to move into maternity wear. With Peanut, it was 10 weeks. This one, 8. At this rate I'll be moving into maternity pants before I even know I'm pregnant. Or worse yet, just wear them all the time. I guess that would solve everything.

I am huge throughout my pregnancies in case you haven't caught on. By six months I am getting the comments about "Isn't that baby out yet??" and "How overdue are you?" With Peanut I was in for a six-month ultrasound and a woman in the waiting room nodded her head and said, "Twins, huh?" "No, actually, just the one." "Are you sure? They can check those things now." (She was older, but apparently also an idiot.). "Yes. I've seen it on the scans. Just the one." "Hm. Well, that's gonna be one huge baby!" [Curt smile, followed by ignoring her.] For the record, Peanut couldn't even manage to top 7 lbs. I get this a lot. A LOT. And for those who have not actually seen me at nine months pregnancy, you cannot possibly fathom what a sight I make for the general public. Really. Don't even try or it'll hurt something internal (unless you're Jody).

Oh, and the doctors. Oh my goodness the doctors. I had an OB appointment today. I came out of there absolutely fuming. I consider myself an easy patient. If it makes sense, I'm going to do what I'm told to. If you're not an idiot, dealing with me will be smooth sailing, I assure you. The OB/GYNs that I saw for Peanut left me with such perpetual heartburn and spiking blood pressure that I swore I would never go through them again. And yet, here I am with them again, experiencing the same damn heartburn, etc., mostly because they're too darn convenient to get to vs. the good ones who are half a world away. With Peanut they swore up and down throughout the entire thing that something must be wrong with me. No, the test results always came back just fine. But someone at my age? With my enormous fattitude? Being healthy? Why that's preposterous!! Here, let's find something that's wrong with you to justify our existences here!

Here's how the conversation went today. The conversation that made my blood boil. You know, for the record and all.

OB: OK, and we're going to do the glucose challenge today as we discussed at our last meeting.
Me: We did not discuss any such thing at our last meeting.
OB: Yes we did, because here is the information right here in your file.
Me: We DID NOT DISCUSS THIS. You know why? Because I would have LOST MY CRAP, JUST LIKE I'M DOING RIGHT NOW.
OB: What is the problem? It says right here in your file that you were gestational diabetic Type 2A. It says it right there. You were on medication and everything. You were diabetic so we have to test you early now.
Me: I WAS NOT DIABETIC. EVER.
OB: Fine. I'm going to go look at your glucose test results and just see for myself.
OB: You know, I just looked at these test results. Your test results came back fine; you passed your glucose test. Did you know that you weren't diabetic?
(And here's where I really lost it): YES, I JUST SAID THAT. I WAS NOT DIABETIC!!
OB: Well then, why did they say you were? Why did they put you on medication for something you didn't have?
Me: Because they're paranoid freaks who wanted to find something wrong with me and settled on gestational diabetes, that's why! And I'm getting a little sick and tired of this crap and I'm not going to do it anymore!
OB: Now Abby, you know you can refuse any treatment. That's your decision. But we're really just looking out for your best interests and, of course, your baby's.

I nearly slapped her for that pathetic excuse for a guilt trip. These people constantly put me through the wringer for their own sense of satisfaction and then have the gall to act offended when I call them on the carpet for it. If they think I'm going through their Crazy House of Obstetrics again, they're out of their fricking crazy minds. I'd rather deliver on the front lawn of the hospital.

Oh, and this is fun, too. So they did the first trimester screening last week to determine the odds of having a baby with Down Syndrome, Trisomy 13 and Trisomy 18 (because at 32, I'm ancient). Fine. Tests results came back as my being at a higher risk for 13 and 18 than when I went in. But not terribly high, but higher (1/550 vs. 1/720). However, the risk of killing the baby via amnio to find out would be 1/300. Easy decision, right? This OB asked me repeatedly what I wanted to do, despite she herself saying my chances of having a baby with a chromosomal defect are incredibly slim and the risk of having the amnio to find out conclusively isn't worth risking the baby's life. And yet when I agreed, she didn't believe me. I told her that if this baby has even a chance of taking one breathe outside my body, I will give it that chance, period. I'm not going to abort. I will also not unnecessarily risk the life of the baby just to ease my mind a little, either. If the baby has major problems then there's nothing we can do about it anyway. "Yeah, but you'd at least get some warning." "Consider us warned. Thanks." She just wouldn't take it. I can only assume that she didn't like my expressionless, "heartless" approach to the problem. Did she expect me to burst into tears? Would it have solved the problem if I had? No. So what is her deal? Man, she bugs the hell out of me. Unfortunately, they all do.

Let's see what else I can whine about here.... Huh. Guess I'm plum out. I'm sure more will come later. I'll have to keep you updated. So I'll move on for now.

Only a couple of friends officially knew about my pregnancy early on, and their main job was to tell me if I looked pregnant that day or not. Stephanie was the best for this. At the ward dance she said, "You don't look pregnant at all (i.e. only incredibly fat!)! You should definitely wear that shirt to the Moms Night Out party this Wednesday!" I dutifully did as I was told, all the while thinking that this group of women has only thus far seen me wear my "More Cowbell" t-shirt and nothing else. I'm sure they think I own no clothes. Anyway, because she knew of The Secret That Apparently Wasn't Much of a Secret Due to My Ridiculously Ever-Expanding Size, she was also sworn to secrecy. This, despite the fact that she's a terrible, terrible liar. But she did her best and I appreciate it. You're free, Stephanie! Free!

And for all of my neighbors named Melissa who live three doors down from me, I would like to officially apologize on behalf of Stephanie and her enormously unconvincing lie when you asked her if I was pregnant four weeks ago. I assure you she made me pay for that, but not before pleading with the Lord to forgive her for deceiving you and everyone else in the room she lied to at the time. She has been torturing herself for my sake to the point of fearing for her very salvation, so I ask that you forgive her for her pathetic attempt at deception. And Stephanie, when the Judgment Day arrives, I will gladly step up to the Judgement Bar and take full responsibility for those false witnesses you bore. I'm only happy to. It's the least I can do in exchange for you never actually calling me "only fat and not pregnant," despite every opportunity I gave you to do so.

Can I pick the right friends or what?