Posts Tagged ‘midwife

The midwifery clinic tracks with us until six weeks postpartum, so Wednesday morning was our last appointment.

My little mántóu has grown from 6.3 lbs at birth to 11.5 lbs! Evidently I’m producing heavy cream.

Little smirking munchkin, freshly baked.

Chubby grinning munchkin at six weeks.

Since the birth was quick and I didn’t tear, recovery has been quick and easy as well. I’m less than ten pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, and it’s weight I could stand to keep … just not if it stays on my midsection! My last question to the midwife was, “So, umm, how do I get rid of the gut?”

To which she replied, “You don’t have one.” BONUS POINTS FOR HER.

I do, though. Not a very noticeable one, to be sure, but there’s definitely some extra flesh that wasn’t there before.

Although I’m not pleased about that, my concern over the paunch is largely overshadowed by the novelty of having cleavage.

I may tire of both, we’ll see.

Anyway, we left the clinic with a copy of my medical records, which I’ve been perusing. This “healthy 25yo nullip” (no longer twenty five, sadly, nor a nulliparida) wasn’t a bio major for nothing. They tell the story of Ashelyn’s birth, too, in a clipped, shorthand way.

(Kat really did write that it was “precipitous.”)


I don’t really like my doctor.

Granted, I’ve only seen her twice. And prior to that I hadn’t been to see any doctor for about ten years, so my idea of appropriate bedside manner is probably tenuous.

But I dislike how she completely disappears after an appointment, making it impossible for me to ask her any last-minute questions … or even to confirm whether the appointment is over. Actually, I don’t feel comfortable asking her questions at all. When Kevin did, she scoffed at him!

I dislike how I walked into the second appointment not knowing what to expect. Namely, a pelvic exam. So awkward. And she didn’t tell me what she was doing, or what it was for. I’m a genetics and cell bio major, alright? I’ll understand if you explain. Then she gave me forms for booking an ultrasound and blood test, but didn’t explain those either. I had to read the fine print on the forms to figure out what they were about.

It doesn’t help that the receptionists seem to give off this belligerent I-don’t-want-to-be-here vibe.

Basically, this clinic makes me feel like a patient. I resent feeling like a patient. I’d prefer to feel like a person.

So! I recently attended a friend’s baby shower, and several mothers there suggested having a midwife instead of a doctor. They even recommended a particular clinic. So I called, and already they’re so much more friendly and informative. And I have an appointment next week.

Goodbye, doctor. I hardly knew ye.

Twelve weeks! So far I have one pair of jeans that don’t button comfortably anymore. I’ve been looping a small elastic band around the buttonhole for an extra inch of give. The most immediate problem, though, is my bras. They’re all cutting off my circulation. Yet I feel it’s too early to size up or buy maternity.

Frankly, I’m kind of looking forward to showing more. Right now it’s not too obvious that I’m pregnant. I never consciously “suck in” … but I sing, so my abs are used to, well, holding things in place. To the innocent observer I could just be fat, HAHA.