I had my postpartum checkup this morning (yay!). I thought I was so prepared. I had gotten up early to exercise and feed the baby, had bought a box of chocolates to bring to the office to thank the doctor and her staff, and had made arrangements for my friend to watch Annie and Isaac so they wouldn't have to witness the unveiling of my ho0-ha and be scarred for life. Just as I was packing up the kids to go to the car, Maren had an explosive diaper, and the phone rang while I was changing her. Up to my elbows in sticky yellow poop, I didn't answer it.
Ten minutes later we arrived at my friends house, where a quarantine sign was hung on the door (not literally, but she had been the one calling to say that her children were barfing and I should not bring mine by). At that point, I didn't have any time to spare to get downtown, so I ended up at the doctor's office with three kids in tow. I'm sure the woman who checked me in looked at what I was there for (an IUD) and thought that I was making a wise choice. We almost missed being called back by the nurse because I was off in the bathroom wiping Annie's bum when my name was called.
Thankfully, Eddie took pity on me, left whatever case he was working on, and showed up just as I was being herded with my brood to the exam room.
Unfortunately, Eddie's quick save didn't keep me from having my girly bits on display for the whole world. Just as I was getting ready to spread my legs, a window washer decided it would be a good time to work on the window outside my exam room (the nurse closed the blinds just in time). And with the doctor, nurse, PA, PA student, Maren and me in the tiny room, I'm not sure there would have been room for Isaac and Annie anyway.
As I handed my VISA card over to the cashier she said something to the effect of how insurance makes it so it's cheaper to have a baby than it is to get reliable birth control. Cheaper, maybe, but as the woman waiting behind me in line said, I really do have my hands full.
--originally published 1/22/07
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