Big enough to have my own gravity!

What a monumental waste of time and money.

Seriously.

I'm talking about my OB appointment yesterday.

I mean, really! I'm 31 weeks pregnant with my fifth child. I've had totally uneventful pregnancies (up until time to get the baby out, that is) so why do I need to go in to be checked every month? I have to drive an hour one way with all four of my small children plus I'm paying a load of money for experiences like this:

I was supposed to see Dr. S. (I carefully schedule my appointments for when the two doctors whom I dislike are NOT there.) Well, I arrived, wee'd in a cup, got weighed, and herded The Brood into an exam room. Dr. S bounced in ... and his pager went off.

Dang those women who actually go into labour.

So there I was, left in a tiny exam room with four bored children, petrified of which doctor I'd be seeing since Dr. S was indisposed.

I waited tensely, eyeing the door, and keeping up a steady murmur of "don't touch that, sit down, stop it." The nurse came in and insisted that she try to find Fiver's heartbeat. I assured her that he was kicking me right that second and I was perfectly content to wait. She insisted. I obligingly (if a bit exasperatedly) laid back on the table while she tentatively poked the doppler around. Nothing. She dissappeared with an apologetic smile.

A few minutes later the door swings open and, lo and behold, Sweet Mother of Stan Lee, it's Dr. You're Too Fat, my second least favourite OB in the solar system.

Bloody brilliant.

He also had a female with him - I thought she was his nurse but she turned out to be a student. He never asked me if I minded a student (I have no probs with students but I don't like women touching me) and let her conduct the dopplering while he *tsk*tsk-ed* over my weight gain in the last 6 weeks (9lbs); prophesied horrible difficulties with the rest of my pregnancy if I didn't stop eating (I know how much I've gained - I always gain the same amount); admonished me to excercise (I can't because of my knee); insisted on measuring my fundal height, making a huge deal about not being unable to find the top of my uterus (because I'm such a cow); then smirked about my measuring too large (I always measure about 2 weeks ahead).

Finally I got to sit up (resisting the urge to shove the female student away from me - she was mashing and manipulating my abdomen like she was trying to perform an external cephalic version) and asked the only question I had: I've been having a sharp, arthritis-y pain in my fingers. They are NOT swollen, just painful, and only on the underside of the middle three.

To what did he attribute it? You guessed it: fluid build-up because of my 'excessive' weight gain and surely my baby will have six limbs like a Spider-Man clone and the polar ice caps will melt because of it.

Then he rushed me out of the room.

Grrrrrrr!

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And on a less crabby note, let me share our new Valentine's day t-shirt designs with you. Some of them are pretty funny anti-Valentine's types if you are down with love this year.