So, today was yet another doctor’s appointment and I always enjoy scoping out the waiting area. In the past, I checked out other blossoming bellies, kids in the room or where to find the best magazines.
Today, however, there was a paradigm shift as I scoped out chairs. More specifically, which chairs I could or could not fit in. And which chairs I could or could not easily get out of. The list was limited. I have gained a new empathy for heavy people everywhere and the nightmare of itsy bitsy armchairs. Now I see why they don’t let pregnant women fly in their last trimester. Forget potential harm for the baby–there’s no way they would fit! And those narrow aisles? It’s a skinny person’s world.
Sitting across from me was a new mom with a six-week-old baby. This woman looked haggard, hormonal and about ready to fall over from exhaustion, a condition I remember all too well. She was perched next to the water fountain and several staff members engaged in small talk as they approached. “Oh, cute baby! How are you doing?!” To which she would wearily reply, “Oh, I’m OK.” Not exactly your ecstatic answer for someone with a new bundle of joy but these people were clueless.
Another June Cleaver approached and started raving about the glories of being a new mom and how time just “flies by, doesn’t it?” Yet, another weak response, “Yes, it does.”
When Mrs. Cleaver left, empathetically, I leaned over to this poor woman and said, “I don’t know about you but those first weeks were rough and DRAGGED ON.” I figured it best to not divulge that those first “weeks” were actually “months.” But I had to give her some hope.
Finally, a light came on in her, “I soooo hear you. My days and nights are all melded into one. I feel like I haven’t slept since she was born!” Finally, someone understood! And it felt good to be the anti-June Cleaver bestowing the harsh realities of life.
When it was finally my turn to pee in a cup and get my blood sucked, I met with a new doctor. Instead of lecturing me that I’m getting too fat and how I gained my allotted amount of weight during the first three weeks of being pregnant, this woman was much more diplomatic:
“You know, I think you need to exercise more.”
“Believe me, Doc. Getting in exercise is NOT my problem. I workout every day.”
“It is your diet, then?”
[Chortling] “If you could call it that!”
It’s not that I’m not trying.
Example #1: Last night, I took Hadley to Playland at McDonald’s. Instead of loading up on a Happy Meal, we shared a yogurt parfait. [Side note: We then went home and ate a nice, fat bowl of ice cream.]
Example #2: Duly motivated, I went to Whole Foods after my appointment with the intention of loading up on some nice, healthy whole-grain foods. And load up I did, [particularly on all the succulent dessert samples in the bakery area.]
Oh well. At least my heart was in the right place. It’s my stomach that’s another matter….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 