I was driving home from my prenatal appointment yesterday morning, listening to the radio. I had to go in for my 20 week check. All good. The kiddo’s heartbeat is there and strong, he was sitting down in the bottom of my uterus so there was a couple moments of nervousness while the OB searched around on my belly with the doppler and in the process got my whole tummy covered in blue goo. Finally she found it and it was fine. 140 bpm, and strong. As suspected. She measured my fundus, which just sounds dirty. I’m not sure why they call it a fundus. Why not just call it my uterus? It is, after all, my uterus the only difference is that it is full of little alien and placenta and amniotic fluid. I guess that changes it from uterus to fundus. Whatever. It measured right were it should for 20 weeks, so, so far so good. Both me and the kid are growing at the correct rate and that’s swell.
Oh, while I was in the waiting room, I saw a newly pregnant, formerly over-employed, nicely dressed in 3 seasons old clothes, 30 something waiting. She looked uncomfortable. She tried to keep to herself and not pay attention to the two homeless men who were talking loudly about the prison sentences they had served since they last saw each other and which half-way homes are the most lenient with regards to drug use and late nights while they waited to use the free showers and clothing exchange at the clinic. She’ll get used to it.
The shower people wait pretty quietly and most of the time and they are indistinguishable from the rest of us except most are men and none are pregnant.
I also saw another woman I have spoken to quite a few times. She is 39 weeks and was in PR. She’s 34 and has been unemployed for almost two years, since the company she was working for was bought by a media conglomerate and they canned all of the office except the owner of her firm. We are kinda like kindred spirits, but we haven’t said as much to each other. We don’t speak much when we are inside. Outside, while we are waiting for the waiting room to open first thing in the morning, when our conversation is less likely to be listened on, we talk a little. We shared who we used to be. She, unlike me, is married, however, so she at least did something orthodox. Too bad her husband is a writer. If she had had the good sense to fall in love with and marry a mechanic she wouldn’t be waiting in the free clinic waiting room with the men who are waiting for showers. So, we’ve welcomed another one of us into the fold in the waiting room.
When I’m driving during the day in LA, I almost always have the radio tuned to something with the news and traffic conditions. There are two AM stations that I go between. One has traffic on the fives and the other has traffic on the ones. I always forget which one is which so that means I end up listening to commercials and sports news while waiting for the ones or the fives to pop up. I find sports and sportscasters so annoying, I actually prefer to listen to commercials or nothing at all, but when I’m waiting to hear how long it’s going to take me to make it from Hollywood to Downtown, listening to nothing isn’t a choice. Yesterday, traffic was bad. I hadn’t even jumped on the freeway because by the time I had gotten in the car, I heard the tail end of the traffic report and somewhere, the 101 was completely backed up but I didn’t know where the back up ended, so I was going to take surface streets the would give me easy access to the freeway until I could figure out where the stoppage ended. I knew it would be longer to wait for that station to tell me what the road conditions were, so I switched to the other channel and just had to wait it out. It was commercials. Meh. I shut my brain mostly off and thought about food while I waited until I heard the middle of a Mike Diamond plumber commercial.
In the greater LA Metro area, Mike Diamond Plumber brands themselves as The Smell Good Plumber. They change up their commercials on quarterly schedules so you don’t get tired of hearing them, but that doesn’t really work. They are always annoying. This one their newest one. In the commercial they retardedly claim their plumbers will show up on time and smell better than a new car wrapped in bacon. It was this point that I could feel the right side of my upper lip raise, Elvis-like, and my eyes roll and pull back to the right. Sigh. Bacon? Really? I love bacon as much as the next person but come on! I’m so friggin’ tired of bacon everything. I don’t know where it started. But bacon is everywhere now and it’s so fucking annoying. Yes, we get it! Bacon is awesome. Is it awesome enough to have it tattooed on you? Apparently it is as thousands of disgusting hipsters have it emblazoned on their skinny, pale wrists or their bony sides. I’ve even seen it on a neck. It’s like the Pokemon craze. Now, even the normals are raging about bacon. I’ve found countless blogs that are bacon based. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a magazine dedicated to bacon and bacon related topics. It’s the new thing, the new thing that isn’t new and now it’s annoying. Am I the only one who is fucking tired of it? I can’t be. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones that is making me find this so irritating.
There was a time in my life, I time I know as “Before Knocked Up” when little things, like bacon love, didn’t bother me. I could stand in line behind someone who smelled of a heady mix of booze, stale cigarettes and B.O. and not retch. I could wait on hold with my bank for 15 minutes and not want to stab someone in the face by the time they finally answered the phone. I would rarely, if ever, yell at other drivers and tell them maybe they should consider public transportation because the streets are not for imbeciles. Yes, there was a time. Now, I still have moments when I’m not crazy. Like a dementia patient who one moment knows who you are and why you are there. I breath a sigh of relief when I realize I am acting normal and nothing feels so wonderful. Sometimes, I can manage an entire day when I don’t feel like a harpy. Other days, something irritates me almost as soon as I wake up and I spend my whole day trying to push the reset button become myself again.
Ah, pregnancy hormones. I understand now. I didn’t before but that didn’t keep me from having many irritating opinions about how pregnant women behave. I will admit it. I was wrong. I was super, fucking wrong. You really can’t help it. Any time a pregnant chick is being patient and pleasant and smiling, she is working to be that way and to stay that way. I know it now and I wish I had been gentler on my sex and I wish I had shut my big, fat mouth up before. Sorry girls, I was ignorant and I was an asshole.