The Clinic Chronicles: Part 1

Modesty Aside

The day after finding out I was pregnant found a blissed out Mr. F with me in tow at the local family clinic to have myself checked out.

It was pretty much standard: vital stats, BP, weight check (so that’s where all the donuts went!), and the numerous forms to be filled while waiting for the OB to see us next. I know the nurses have been probably been through this hundreds of times being in the biz and all but I still felt ridiculously shy. Even if I had been reading up a bit on what to expect on my first Pre-natal visit, it was hella different being actually here.

“Babe, just the fact that we’re here announces to the general public that we’re most likely having sex” said Mr. F ever so succinctly.

I guess that’s why they put you through the nurses first, so by the time you get to the doctor, your modesty’s been shell-shocked to oblivion.

I’ve never been truly modest but surprisingly, I still managed to blush when asked about my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) to determine when I possibly conceived. I honestly couldn’t say when we “planted the seed” so we just hazarded an educated guess.

What was really worrying me however was that I’ve never revealed so much about my personal hygiene to just anyone!

I couldn’t even imagine talking about my sex life with own mother much less reveal details to someone I just met. I also had issues about possibly being “felt up” by a perfect stranger. I wasn't kinky that way and from what I heard about IEs (Internal Exam), I just knew I wasn’t going to like it.

We’ve never met the OB on duty at the clinic either so for all I knew we could be getting a prudish old geezer we might shock to death if we ever even mention the word “sex”.

I was working myself up into a real basket of nerves.

By the time they called us in, I had decided to just wait outside and let Mr. F find out what was what. He would’ve done it too if not for one tiny little detail.

I was the one who had the ovaries and the womb.

In The Pink

At 17, I had my life all planned out.

Work hard, party harder, and retire to a little cottage on the beach.

I’ll be everyone's favorite grand-aunt; the eccentric old lady who cooks with her own herbs, the one with all the stories, and drinking wine like it was water. I’ll have a merry, rollicking love life and be the living muse of rock stars, painters and poets.

All shall love me and despair!

Ten years later, I’m dry-heaving into a toilet bowl. Not quite the picture I saw in my head. The toilet bowl was a familiar sight on Saturday mornings after a Friday night’s drunken debauchery. Things were different this time though as beside me was the number-cruncher I married two years ago and I was dry heaving for an entirely different reason aside from too much alcohol.

At least I suspected as much.

Mr. F, my beloved number-cruncher, excitedly whips out a candy pink box and presents it to me. If only it did contain candy.

"It’s a pregnancy kit!” F said as he was opening the box.

“Why wait for a clinic check up when we can find out now?"

How he managed to get a hold of a home pregnancy kit at six in the morning is beyond me.

"Aren’t you excited!? ComeoncomeoncomeOON!”

A pee drop later found Mr. F and I staring in fascination at the two tiny windows that were about to change our lives forever.

“Pink line! PINK LINE, BABE!”

“That’s a fiber, hon” a bit unsurely.

Another minute passes.

“That’s definitely a pink line babe.”

“Yeah but there should be a line in both windows.”

“There’s another forming now.”

“The pee hasn’t gone that far yet!”

As I watched the moisture creep up the pregnancy strip I was suddenly struck with how surreal all this was. Shouldn’t I be excited? What if I am pregnant? Do I want to be pregnant? Why wouldn’t I want to be? What was one supposed to feel in these kinds of situation?

A litany of thoughts started crowding my already throbbing head and, in spite of myself, the suspense was killing me. I plop on the living room couch while Mr. F stays in the bathroom waiting for the result.

Three minutes passes. Total silence.

“So are we or are we not, hon?”

He comes out of the bathroom, holding the thing. He looks at me without saying a word. His face just about breaks my heart. I knew right then he was going to start tearing up, my big softie. I run up to give him a big hug.

“It’s okay, honey, we can try again. My period might just be around the corner. We’ve had a stressful holiday season that’s why my cycle’s all messed up.”

*sniff*…mumble.

“Please don’t be sad, hon!”

More mumbles. I squeeze him tighter, letting him know how much I love him and thinking he’s going to be a great dad someday.

“You’re cutting off my air, babe…and we’re pregnant.”

ABOUT LAYA

Life on the fast lane comes to a screeching halt as 28-year old workaholic Laya develop a heightened sense of smell...and nausea.

Two pink stripes on the preggy test on the bathroom sink some time after a late night tango with the hubby and suddenly, it's life on the mommy lane with its inexplicable stops and starts with a bouncing baby girl in tow.

Now, Laya juggles hormonal spikes, manages a growing art studio, marriage mayhem, and coming to grips with the reality that she is no longer a luscious single chick running with the wolves.

She keeps her sanity by websurfing.

Determined to achieve the pinnacle of mommylusciousness, Laya seeks to unravel the mysteries of motherhood...one diaper at a time.