More than you wanted to know

I had my annual visit to the gynecologist today. Now, normally I wouldn't talk about this, much less write about it on what is pretty much an international billboard, but since a majority of my thoughts as of late are about fertility and my lady parts, I feel its relevant. Because just in case I wasn't feeling bad enough about myself and said lady parts, this was the most depressing trip to the gynecologist ever.

Not a post-modern duck puppet

First of all, the waiting room was full of pregnant women, sitting there with their rosy cheeks and their bulging stomach and that smug look of satisfaction. And, of course, they had taken all of the copies of "People" so the only magazines left were all about parenting with articles about how wonderful it is to have a baby and how people without children really won't go to heaven.

When my name was called I went back to face the scale. I had been dreading this moment since I made the appointment six months ago. At last years appointment I had been on Weight Watchers in preparation for summer and swim suits. But this year my attitude was a little different. I figure, I'm trying to get pregnant, so I'm going to get fat, so I might as well enjoy the ride. I'll make a big push and lose the baby weight and the pre-baby anticipation weight all at once. And no, I don't care if you think this logic is flawed. Refer to the name of the blog if you have questions. As expected my girth has expanded over the past year. I tried to make excuses, that my jeans were made of iron, or I had lead for lunch, but that couldn't keep the nurse from noting the depressing number on my chart.

For those of you who have never been to the gynecologist before this might be the time for you to go check scores at ESPN.com. Because this is the point when I had to get naked.

Normally, I enjoy being naked. It means no fashion decisions and a free and easy feeling I enjoy. But not in this case. There is something about the gynecologist's office that just makes naked feel so exposed. They give you a little gown and a drape -- but that just makes it worse. I felt like a flasher that just hadn't gotten caught yet. Then of course there is the whole issue of grooming. I know, she's a doctor, she's seen it all, but I still wondered if my bikini wax still looked good and if I should have shaved my legs this morning instead of last night. Added to my worry is the fact that this same doctor sees not only me, but my two sisters and my mother. It made me wonder if she was doing a silent comparison as I sat in the stirrups. What if I was the big disappointment in the crotch care department?

The actual check-up wasn't that bad. I like the fact that my doctor doesn't try to chat at that time or explain in soothing tones everything that is going on. Its wham, bam, pap smear ma'am. She refilled my prescriptions and all was well. But then she wanted to talk about Luke.

Normally I love to talk about Luke. But normally I'm not wearing a hospital gown backwards while trying to retain my dignity. However, I like my doctor so I pulled out my camera to show her a few pictures and she oohed and ahhed said how excited she is that I'm trying to get pregnant. And then I had a horrible thought -- as soon as I get pregnant I'll have repeat this experience multiple times. That office will no longer be a once a year treat, but a constant presence in my life. I shivered.

I wonder if they'll let me bring my own scale.