Yesterday’s 33 week appointment was totally uneventful. I saw one of the midwives I had yet to meet, and I wasn’t so impressed. I didn’t completely dislike her, I just didn’t like her so much. I’m by no means a high maintenance patient; I usually don’t ask questions and am very laid back about this whole pregnancy. I do, however, like to know at least some of what they know – what I’m measuring, the baby’s heart rate, what I’ve gained, how my sugar and protein are for this visit, and simple things like that. She provided absolutely none of that information, and I know it won’t make much sense, but I just didn’t think to ask. (Not to mention that she also didn’t have my information pulled up on the computer at the time, so if I had asked, she would not have been prepared.)
The highlight of the entire visit was when she asked me how many I was having — after she measured me and listened to her heart rate! Seriously!? How many babies? Uh, one! “I glanced at your chart and saw that you are 33 weeks but forgot to look at how many.” Oops, sorry for your bad luck. Even if she had looked at no additional information, I would think the answer to that question would be fairly straightforward. My measurement was about a centimeter ahead at my last appointment, so I can’t imagine that to be too much of a red flag. And did ya hear two in there, honey? If Justin had been with me, he probably would have fallen out of the chair.
I digress; the point is, I have no new and exciting news to report. And when she gave me the window of my next appointment as 2-3 weeks, I went with nearly 3. All’s been well so far, and I’ll start weekly appointments after that, so why rush things.
Crap, I’ll be 35w2d at that point … and 33 days from girlfriend’s expected due date. Oh my.