Baby Got Back

This gentleman, if you can call him that is Sir Mix a Lot, the rapper who decided to dedicate an entire song to big backsides.  The lyrics are pretty inappropriate and I bet if the song was ever played on the radio I could sing every single one of them.  I think it was ninth grade that I memorized them, apparently they stay with you forever because even now as I'm typing the song is playing in my head.  Maybe it's playing in your head too? 

Or if you're lucky, they're not!  I went into my last doctors appointment before D-Day on Monday morning.  I'm so excited not to have a weekly appointment.  I'm weird like that.  If I have something scheduled every single day of the week I'm pretty miserable.  I need wide open spaces!  Even on my calendar. 

I don't know if it's just SLC, but I have not been happy about seeing nurse practicioners instead of the doctor of my choice.  Five years ago when I lived in the Shire AKA Logan I saw the doctor who would eventually deliver my baby every single appointment.  I thought this was an unspoken rule.  If you're pregnant you're seeing the doctor and that's that.  So I guess I was spoiled with that experience because it certainly has not been that way here.  Like I said I don't know if it's because I go to an especially in demand OBGYN or if it would be this way with any doctor around here. 

So my face fell as Rita, the nurse practitioner waltzed into the room Monday morning...again.  I think she knows I'm not thrilled to see her.  The week before she also examined me and as we were talking my REAL doctor came into the room to talk to her for a brief second.  It was like when you were on a dance date with a boy you didn't really like all that much and you see the boy you really do like at the dance and you can't help but smile and flirt with him in passing.  May not be polite, but it happens.  And so I'm sure the look of yearning on my face was aptly apparent as Rita turned her attention back to me.  Sorry Rita, you'll never be a Doctor Van Horn.

So Rita informs me on Monday that Dr. Van Horn cannot make it because she's doing a c-section.  I grudgingly accepted that as a reasonable excuse not to examine me...I guess.  Rita measures my stomach and puts her hand on the rather hard spot on my upper right tummy and says, "What's this?"  I stared at her like she was an idiot for just a moment before I said, "I don't know, I always assumed it was my baby's bum.  It's been there for at least a month, more or less."  She says, "Hmmm," rather skeptically.  Then she feels around a bit more and says, "I can't be sure that the baby's head is down."  Although just the week before she had told me it was as if my over-productive bladder was in any doubt.  So she sends me up to the hospital to have an ultrasound because if I'm being induced in a week we better be safe.

I'm all for being safe.  Really I am, but I can't help but wonder if it had been my doctor if I would have had to go and get it checked out.  So we go up to the hospital and have an ultrasound and sure enough the baby's head is down and the enormous bump is indeed my baby's booty.  I'm very thankful it won't be Rita delivering my pear-shaped daughter. 

One of the pluses of the ultrasound was being able to see the baby's face a bit better.  She's always had her hands in front of her face in her other ones.  Her face looked a bit like it was squished up against glass and her lips were poutty and I'm sorry to say she has my nose.  Her cheeks looked especially chubby, which is a sure sign she is a Smith child.  I'm so excited to meet her.  The ultrasound tech also said she had lots of hair. 

I'm so anxious this week to get things in order and Christmas stuff done.  Those first few days home from the hospital are all a bit foggy and I'm trying to prepare myself for adjusting to my body being a total wreck for a few weeks and crying jags....mine and the baby's.  But other than that I'm super excited to meet my daughter and to hold her in my arms.  Both Ava and my husband are excited and Ava keeps saying, "We're adding a new member!"  Like it's long overdue.  She's been telling me lately she wants at least 80 siblings.  I smile and think about how many sister wives I'd have to have in order to accomplish that number.  We'll see if she still wants that many when the baby is here and stealing her five long years of sole attention. 

Until next week I'll sign off.  I hope to be able to write a coherent post after I come with the baby the end of next week.  We shall see.