I once heard a nasty rumor that babies get bigger and bigger everytime you birth one. For people squeezin’ out these precious little 6-pound birds, it might be a welcome statement; I, myself, got a little worried the first time I heard it, but I figured, hey. If it were a proven fact from the Library of Congress, my doctor would let me know what’s up before things got out of hand.
And she did. Yesterday.
"Hmm. Hmmmmmmmmm. Your baby is BIG. Quite big."
"Oh, yes; I’m aware of that."
"Really? Would you say this one feels bigger than Mia was at this point in your pregnancy?"
"I would say that this one feels bigger than Mia did when she was born."
"Then you need to get your sonogram done as soon as possible. Normally we wait until 36 weeks, but…and mothers tend to be right on when guessing the size of their babies. How big was Mia?"
"Um…9 lbs, 6 oz."
"Did you have any problems delivering her?"
"Sadly, no. She popped right out–no stitching required."
"That’s good. You know, it’s not always the case, but babies typically get bigger and bigger with every pregnancy."
"Well, I’ll be on maternity leave before your next appointment! Best of luck to ya!"
Fuck you, Doctor, for bailing right when I’m trying to have my baby. No, I didn’t mean that. But in the past 8 months I haven’t been this freaked out–I knew my doctor was pregnant, but it never occured to me that she was really going to have it at some point in time. Crap. Now I’m gonna be stuck with some crotchedy old-lady doctor who will be mean to me when it finally comes time to deliver Monstro. And she probably won’t even have cool different-color eyes–one blue eye and one brown–I’m pretty sure that was going to be lucky for me somehow, someway.
I don’t want to be induced before my time. I don’t want to think about having a C-section. I can’t believe that at 34 weeks these medical professionals need a sonogram–why? Do they actually need to make a snap decision right now? What the hell for? How big do they think this baby is? Shouldn’t they wait until he is at least a little closer to term before they start worrying how to get him out? They can look all they want via ultra-sound. I’ll even stop drinking Miracle-Gro for breakfast and I promise to cut down on the steroids. I’m not done being pregnant for Christ’s sake! I’m still half-ass sanding the crib! I need to wash sheets and clothes! I haven’t even had a pedicure yet!
I won’t lie and say I’m not proud of having huge healthy babies. I know that I know how to grow ’em. Do you know any 15-year-old that would have a complications-free pregnancy, an on-time delivery, and come out with an 8 lb, 1oz baby to show for it? Yes–I’m just that fucking good. Cheyenne was by no means gigantic, but she was on the large side of average. It took me a whopping 5 minutes to push her out. Impressive? I think so. You do it.
And then Mia came and kicked things up a notch, and now I’m facing the possibility of an even bigger kid wreaking havoc on my nether-regions? I can’t bear the thought–not neccessarily of the actual delivery; I plan to be doped up and knocked out for that. It’s the aftermath that scares me. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I might never walk again.