Out of the Bag

I reluctantly revealed my miraculous news to coworkers this week, recognizing that the extended bump on my frontside really couldn't be explained by weight gain alone any longer. Fortunately, the particular co-workers I talked to remember my last pregnancy, and know better than to ask for more details than I am willing to give them. I joked about not telling them at all and seeing how long any one of them could hold out until they finally asked, and then took my leave of them peacefully.

So far, so good.

There is, however, the Downstairs Contigent, a group of homebodies with nothing better to do who will be watching my belly with some delight and will not hesitate to ask me whether I am pregnant, when I am due, how I am feeling, what I am having, how much weight have I gained and whether or not I'll be coming back to work(most likely while I am in the middle of some work-related, concentration-requiring task). These are the people I am dreading. Not only are these irrelevant questions that are none of their business and set my teeth on edge, but they interfere with me doing my job. And I hate things which interfere with me doing my job.

In other news, the clinic that I go to continues to be disorganized and ditzy, with the result that at my last appointment the nurse took the urine sample, my weight, and blood pressure and only then made it apparent that she had no idea why I was there. "There's a pre-natal questionnaire attached to your paperwork," she said, "do you know why its there?"

I informed her that I had no idea how their forms worked and was unaware of the inner workings of the bureaucracy which would place them in certain places, but that I was here for my prenatal appointment as the forms under the questionnaire probably indicated. Mercifully, she left and the rest of the appointment went without incident.

As long as I don't get to the point where they're about to do the c-section but forget how to do it or what my due date actually is, we're probably alright.