Today, I called the gynecologist to make The Appointment. By that, I mean the one where we discuss stuff like prenatal vitamins and all that. (I'm saying "all that" because I figure there's more to discuss, but I don't have a clue what it is.)
When I picked up the phone to dial, I got the worst case of butterflies to hit my stomach in a long time. I'm not sure, but I think they might have been dragons flying around in there instead of butterflies.
The receptionist answers, and I say, "I'd like to make my annual appointment," and then suddenly my breath leaves me as I try to say, "and talk about having a baby."
The receptionist, who's heard it a thousand times, says, "I'm sorry, talk about what?"
"Having a baby..." I say, only slightly louder. "Do I need a special appointment for that?"
"No, you can talk to the doctor about that at the time of your regular appointment."
As if it were no big deal. As if that one talk wouldn't change the rest of my life.
April 12th, 2:30 pm. The Appointment.