Mother, may I

So, I went to the lady doctor this past week. For all you male readers (uh, all 2 of you?), don't flip your shit. I'm not going to delve into details. Trust me, that's fun for no one.

Anyway, because my company recently switched its insurance from Kick-Ass Insurance to Unbelievably Craptastic Insurance, I went to a brand new office with a new doctor, determined to get a new birth control that my UCI actually covers.

I tentatively walk up to the right address and see "Playboy Headquarters" carved into some fancy-looking marble. I hesitate. I look around. I see a pregnant woman waddle up the stairs into the building. Safe to assume she's not going in there to pose for a pictorial, so I follow her in.

I wander into some elevators and pile myself (and my obnoxious purple purse) into the cramped space. I notice that EVERYONE is going to the same floor I am. Okay, then.

I manage to find the doctor's office, double-checking to make sure my doc's name is inscribed on the door, and wait in line at the reception desk. There's a young woman in front of me, doing the "I have to pee" dance.

What's wrong with her, I wonder.

[Woman dances from one foot to the other.]

Is she THAT nervous about the gyno? Is she just a jittery person? Oh, Jesus, is she ON something?

[Woman crosses her legs.]

"You can go pee," the receptionist tells her.

Whaat? Did you just need permission to use the bathroom? Okay, I am SO not asking for permission if I have to pee. What kind of warped third-grade world did I wander into?

At this moment, a pregnant woman walks into the office with her husband, doing the exact same pee dance. She checks herself in and sits down, wiggling in her seat.

Damn, I think, these chicks are odd. Why didn't they pee before they left the house? Am I in some sort of special needs ward where grown women forget how to use the bathroom until some overworked, underpaid, gum-snapping receptionist grants them permission?

I look around. Everyone is pregnant. Everyone.

Oooooohhhh. It finally clicks with me that these preggos have to show up to the doc with a full bladder. (For ultrasound reasons? Feel free to correct me here.) In one sense, I am relieved that they're not just slow in the head. On the other hand, I'm wondering what the shit I'm doing in the doctor's office on Pregnant Lady Day.

So I finally meet with the doc and we go through some questions.


Doc: So, you're married, I see.

Me: Oh. Yeah, I am.

Doc: So when are you two thinking about having kids? Or are you thinking about it?

Me: Oh, God, no.

Doc: Haha, you're probably finding now that you're married, everyone's asking you about kids, huh?

Me: Actually, no. Maybe they think I'm far too superficial and selfish to transfer my shoe-and-handbag fund over to a diapers-and-college fund, plus I'm hardly able to feed myself, much less a breathing, shitting, crying human. Wait, should I be offended by that? Nah, it's true.

Doc: Well, there's no rush.

Me: No kidding. I'm young! I can wait, like, another 10 years.

Doc: Sure.

Me: Maybe even 15!

Doc: Don't push it.


Or -- another idea -- we don't have kids at all. We've been talking about that option more and more lately. I guess it's hard for us to ever see ourselves as mature enough to be responsible for ANOTHER LIFE. Don't get me wrong, I love babies as much as I love white wine, but I don't know that I'll ever be ready to have that massive, never-ending responsibility.

So now when I accidentally get knocked up, we can all link back to this post and laugh, laugh, laugh. Well, you'll laugh. I'll cry because it means my happy hours are gone forever, along with my ability to grant myself permission to pee.

How do you moms do it??