Open Wide

Ah, the dentist's office. If this is your idea of a good time, you're probably one of a very small minority of Americans (or human beings).

I know that dental hygiene is very important during pregnancy. I've already been spooked into the whole gingivitis = preterm labor story. My originally scheduled every-six-months cleaning fell when I was home on rest, so I took at that as a very good excuse to just not go. Well, persistent bugs that they are, they actually called me back last week and reminded me to reschedule. What kind of responsible medical office is this?! They conveniently had a cancellation for this morning, so I decided just to get it over with.

I don't know what it is about the dentist's office that makes it feel like such an affront on your self-esteem. I'm sure that the hygienist has seen much worse teeth than mine, but I still feel like I'm being silently judged as she scrapes the last six months' worth of plaque off of my teeth, especially since I'm pregnant and she probably knows even more scary facts about it all than I do. Because I don't floss does she think I'm purposefully trying to harm my fetus?? I might as well just come in with a t-shirt that reads "(spare me the lecture) I do not floss every day."

She was perfectly nice about it, of course. We had to do some rearranging at the beginning since that whole flat on your back position doesn't work too well when you're pregnant. We settled on a semi-reclined position with me awkwardly trying to lay sideways and trying not to obviously wince every time she stabbed my gums. Then the doctor comes in at the end to do the official check and ramps the chair backwards I swear as low and as flat as it can go. I stopped him and said this is probably not a good idea unless you want an unconscious pregnant woman in your chair. He said I was welcome to sleep in the chair (that would have to be some pretty serious Tired) but not fall unconscious. So he moved it up, I swear, maybe six inches. Men.

I think the best part of the entire trip was when I went to the bathroom before I left. The bathroom is not specifically for the office -- the entire building shares a set at the end of the hallway. I walk in, and there's a woman in her 60s (give or take) washing her hands. She says hello to me, and then mentions something about "winter's here." I politely agree with her, throwing in a "and it seems like just overnight!" for good measure. It seems like a fitting end for the conversation. Except... she keeps going. I'm locked in the stall with toilet paper carefully strewn on the seat and she's still talking to me about the weather. I sit down and think to myself, Do I start to go? Do I wait? It's one thing when you're in the public bathroom with your mother, and you sort of just continue the conversation, but I do not know this woman, and I don't think we need to know each other, you know, that well.

I give up and start to go and she keeps going, COMPLETELY undeterred. "Every time they say something big is going to happen, nothing ever does! I think everyone should just turn their TV and radio off. Like in the old days. We never knew when something was coming! It just came and we dealt with it!" I think at this point I mumbled some sort of enthusiastic agreement (I generally have problems being outwardly rude to strangers), wondering how much longer she was going to go on. Was I going to flush and walk out and then be invited for dinner? Were we going to move on to discussing Sven's hair?

Thankfully no, she decided she was done, and wished me a great day. From my perch in the stall I said, "you too!" and waited to get up until I heard her walk out the door. Hilarious!

I managed to reschedule my appointment to this week on Wednesday so I can have my cervix checked to make sure Bug's not going to fall out. My favorite desk girl answered the phone and I had no trouble getting an appointment with the doctor this week. I am still slightly perturbed that I couldn't have just done that last week when I was there. Oh well.

It appears that drinking enough water (to drown a horse? a fish? I have no good analogy on this one) is the answer so far. It's difficult to consciously consume so much liquid, though. Straws help, but only to a point. After drinking, I swear, two gallons yesterday I actually had one of the best night's sleep in a long time, and still only had to get up to go to the bathroom once. I didn't really have any bad cramps (I prefer to call them that than "Braxton-Hicks") today, although there's still another seven hours left. We volunteered at Toys for Tots this afternoon (increased activity) and I really didn't have any, so I'll take that as a win.

P.S. We were shopping this weekend and ended up going into the store Justice, and I almost had a stroke. Am I really going to be going there with Bug in ten years? I shudder to think of all the hot pink and glitter in my future.