Entry 2: Internally Yours

From there I was directed to a different waiting room. The long, dark hallway to the second room was laced with the judging glares of the only type of women I despise. For the purpose of this story let’s refer to her as “Mother of the Year”. A “Mother of the Year” is the crazy type of pregnant woman who shows up to every routine check up perfectly primped and beautiful, five minutes early and with her adoring husband in tow. She welcomes every disgusting fart and projectile vomit of her first trimester like a gift from God because to her, pregnancy is beautiful. She has also been known to save her baby’s umbilical cord and/or foreskin as a souvenir, and believes that an epidural is an evil, satanic drug designed to rob women of the gifts of labor. After her beautiful delivery she will no doubt be back in her skinny jeans by the time she leaves the hospital and will look at you disgusted when she sees that you are still wearing maternity jeans at your child’s first birthday party. If you happen upon one of these “Mother of Year” types during your own pregnancy do not be discouraged. Simply inform her that you used an artificial sweetener this morning in your triple caffeinated coffee and she will likely be so horrified she will never bother you again. Anywho, back to the story…As for the disapproving glares, we are still unsure whether they were bestowed upon us because we looked like a couple of lesbos, or if they overheard me asking the nurse if it was possible to get an epidural before the ultrasound.

The ultrasound technician guided us to a romantically lit room with yet another examination table. Thanks to the curse of the rectally tilted uterus, this would also be an “internal” exam. Because this was my first experience with the cooter-cam, I had no idea what was in store for me. Much to our amazement, the technician emotionlessly pulled out a long, white cylindrical device, squirted it with medical grade KY and began to dress the device with a…condom? I sat there wondering how she was going to get the batteries in the damn thing if she already put the condom on it. My thought was abruptly cut short by the irreverent outburst of laughter from my sister, who pointing to the condom, lovingly snorted “If she knew how to use one of those, she wouldn’t be in this mess!”

And that’s when the tears came.