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After the twins were born, I bought a treadmill and started running. Hard to work out outside the home when you have three small children age three and under. So, the treadmill went in to my bedroom, and I diligently plowed through three miles every day. Eventually, three miles got easier and I started running four, then five, then six miles at a time. I felt really good, and I lost all my baby weight.
And then that glorious little pink postcard came in the mail, reminding me it was time for that annual check-up we all know and love. You know... THAT visit. The one where you get to wear a little paper sheet, stare at the butterflies on the ceiling, go to your happy place and pretend there isn't a person all up in your business. Yay!
Now, just as an aside, I have had four children. So, I don't get overly stressed about seeing the gynecologist. I mean really, there's been so many people all up in my business, checking this, evaluating that, I'm sorta numb to it. But that doesn't mean I look forward to it. Maybe a little more than I look forward to going to the dentist. At least when you go to the dentist though, you get clean teeth at the end. Not really sure WHAT you get when you go see the gynecologist.
Where was I?
Oh yes. It was time for my annual exam, and I was feeling good cause I'd just lost my baby weight plus a bit more. So, I dutifully scheduled my appointment and went to see my doctor. He was a great doctor. He's since retired, but he was the kind of guy that really got to know you and not just your parts. And, since I went to see him about a bazillion times throughout my eternally long pregnancy with the twins, we got to know each other pretty well.
So, I wait in the pretty flowered waiting room until it's my turn, and then because I'm nice and compliant like that, I put on my little paper gown and a smile and wait in all my uncomfortable nakedness to see the doctor.
(Note to all gynecologists: If you want to carry on lengthy conversations with your patients, please do it when they are fully clothed. You are being very nice by asking about the baby, and my husband, but you, while sitting there with a nice cotton shirt, pants, socks and shoes, have no idea what it is to sit here, with nothing but a little paper sheet to ornament myself with.... with cold feet and no dignity. You also don't know that bare skin, after twenty minutes of polite conversation will start to stick to the flimsy paper that I'm sitting on. And, that later, when you ask me to scootch down so I'm better positioned, it will be very embarrassing to be stuck to the paper. So please, can we just talk after I'm wearing pants? Please?)
I got sidetracked again, didn't I. Okay, so the doctor comes in and compliments me on my weight loss. We talk about my running and he says it's great that I worked so hard. Time for the exam. I peal myself off the paper and uh, position myself as necessary and try to focus on anything but my nether regions. The doctor, with his little torture tool in hand spins his chair around and just as he comes to face his um, desired target, says, "I just can't believe how good you look!"
Okay. I know he was talking about my weight loss. But his timing was WAY, WAY off. I thought his nurse was going to totally lose it laughing, and for a moment, I was actually NOT the most embarrassed person in the room.
It was really funny. And now I'm done.
