Your mom once said "Well, you didn't exactly deny yourself anything when you were pregnant" and it was true and in your head you saw a variety show of breads -- cheesed, frosted, sugared, fried -- break dancing toward your gaping maw.
"Nope," your doctor says today. "Your uterus is back to normal."
"So this is all me," you say.
You clutch your stomach, the Fish Filet part, and cringe.
There will be a pop quiz:
Q. Thoughts of harming yourself or your baby? A: No.
Q. A case of the weepies when your lifelong best friend gives you a gift from her parents? A. Yes. A thousand times yes.
Q. Similar weepies when she holds your Powerful Baby Girl? A. Sniffle, yes. Okay? I'm a crier.
Q. Blood type? A. (I forget)
Q. Which kidney is she missing? A. Gah! I forget that, too! ("The RIGHT one did the RIGHT thing," Chuck tells you, and you know you'll forget this, too).
Then it comes rapid fire:
Q. When was your last pap?
Q. Have you had sexual contact yet?
Q. Do you ever give yourself breast exams?
Q. Anyone in your family ever have cancer?
Q. DO YOU WANT TO HAVE ANY MORE KIDS!!!!????
Did I mention you're naked? Some sort of toga on top and a sheet on the bottom. And there is a resident shadowing him. You like her. She was at an earlier appointment and stopped in during the labor weekend. You'll remember her forever as being among the best cervix testers of all the cervix testers on staff. (Small hands).
If you ever run into her in a bar bathroom when you're drunk you'll have to remember to tell her that. People love compliments.
"This is going to give me PTSD," you say, stepping into the stirrups.
No one is following your logic.
"From giving birth?" you say.
Your doctor blinks.
"Really?" he asks. He's probably thinking: "I wonder if she has thoughts of harming herself or her baby."
(Answer is still no)
"Chuck told me I should stop telling jokes in the doctor's office," You tell him.
Clamps, probes. "Look how shiny her cervix is," he says to the resident. (Seriously) "That's how you can tell she's breastfeeding," he adds. Then, without warning, he blasts your B hole.
"I guess I didn't know you were going to do that," your voice trails off, uncertain.
The resident nods. She has a nice smile. And so you decide to write this post. So others attending a six week appointment will know.