As I stretched down in the shower to shave by bikini line, all of my leg, including the backs of my thighs for the second time in a month, and then got out to slather on the rich organic Shea Moisture Lavender lotion all over my body to ensure no ashy patches of skin were visible (especially below the waist) I had a enlightening realization - I haven't had to be this attentive to the appearance of my vaginal region since my husband and I were dating!
Welcome to Pregnancy!!
What does it mean to be Pregnant? There will be a definition each entry, but for now, well:
1) Pregnancy (v): To be constantly preparing for strangers or near strangers to observe your most private and least exposed parts in careful detail.
Going to the OBGYN used to be a yearly or bi-yearly embarrassment. Yes, I had a lovely provider who, although working out of the Princeton Health Center and probably spent most of her time tending to undergraduate cases of the clap, was wonderful for the married old lady graduate students who adored her. Her exams were quick efficient and tidy, she was helpful and solicitous. Then she moved to the Philippines and I got pregnant and now its Welcome To The Show Everybody!
I mean, is this how high-priced call girls feel? The constant need to be groomed and tidy for whoever may be getting a gander at your goose that day? Its not like I'm a Sasquatch or anything. And thanks to heavy doses of native american genes mixed into the ole' Black American Pot that makes up my familial gene pool, I am pretty nigh hairless anyway. But I'm not overly obsessed with how my garden looks if you get my drift - I am ok with the Mint overrunning the plant beds since no harm is really done. But now I have returned to that Dating Level Maintenance, where you have to make sure he doesn't know that actually you grow hair in all kind a weird places that freakin' Schick Shaver commercials pretend no one should. Its exhausting.
I found the OBGYN who is to deliver my baby, Dr. Duperval, through friends who adore her, and she is great! No nonsense but attentive, listens carefully but isn't likely to freak you out unnecessarily. But is there anyone out there than me to share the weirdness of that first time: throwing up your feet in the stirrups for someone you've met 20 minutes before?? And each time a different nurse, all of them nice, and my mom is a nurse, so I'm accustomed to certain levels of invasive behavior in the interests of well-being. But Come On.
And the thing is, since I want whatever will make the baby the most happy and healthy and cushy, I can't even care. I'm like, stick whatever you need to in there, probe and poke where you must, just give me a happy rugrat please. Of course that means that now, when my breathing capacity has been reduced by baby, I also have to bend and stretch careful not to cut my leg open while I prep my legs and chocha like a display case at Bloomingdales.
And then there's the time when I obviously miss a patch - hair so fine/scarce sometimes hard to see with fogged up glasses covered in water. At least if there is any judgement going on, everyone has the decency to keep it to themselves. I try to console myself that some woman out there must refuse to tend her display case at all - maybe I can be the Bloomies to her Sears?
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