Take Me Back to Manhattan

1 - The number of time I have left the stove on (yes - I am aware there is a visible flame to remind you to turn it off...)

5 - The number of times I have lost my shopping cart in Target

1 - The number of times I never found it

1 - The number of times I forgot where I was supposed to be going

750 - The number of times I've forgotten what I was saying, what I was looking for or what I was doing

Pregnant brain is a real thing. I am ready for mine to be gone. Then I am sure that I will not remember anything for a while due to lack of sleep and total cluelessness as to how I am supposed to be raising a child.

We met with 2 more pediatricians. They were both totally normal and lovely and we are deciding between them. 

I woke up on Monday morning absolutely convinced that the baby was coming this week. Essentially, I turned into Paul Revere heralding the news on Monday morning to Matt that we needed to get EVERYTHING done IMMEDIATELY because "The baby is coming! The baby is coming!" 

The baby did not come. I must have had a dream or something...I don't know. But I'll tell you this much - everything is pretty much done! Shocker that I ran around like a crazy person and woke up yesterday morning feeling like crap. So now I'm sick and really round but at least everything is ready. 

That is, until the baby actually comes. Who the hell is EVER really ready for that? 

But literally, I am a house. Right now, I am my baby's home. I have an almost fully grown baby living INSIDE of my body. My body is a house. Think about this. Not just like, "right Michelle. We know...you're pregnant and you're having a baby and it's inside your stomach." Reeeeeally take a minute to think about the whole concept. It's INSANE. And amazing. 

My body will only be a house (and a home as I like to think about it) for another month - give or take a week or so. And while I'll be thrilled to have my body back and to not feel random pressing on my bladder, I will miss the intimate moments that can only occur between me and the baby. No one else knows what it feels like to have this particular baby inside of them. Just me. And that's a truly remarkable thing as well - something that I'm sure most mothers feel.

There's lots of stuff to be done at this point - we're busy de-cluttering and crossing off the 50 million things on my To Do list. I never knew I could be so busy without a job but I barely have a free minute to myself. (Except it's all time for myself given that in 5 weeks, I'm LITERALLY not going to have a free minute for myself.) 

One of the things on the To Do list is to meet with pediatricians. We met with our first one today and it was...well...how should I put it? Interesting. We are looking for someone who is willing to work with us on vaccinations - with a spread out schedule and the willingness to skip some of the vaccinations that, after much research, we don't feel are necessary. Blah blah blah. SO. We go to this pediatrician today. People rave about her, how fabulous she is. And she very well may be. But only in LA does a pediatrician leave you feeling like they're doing you a favor by being your doctor. Upon arrival into her less than stellar office space (more on that later), her office manager greeted us with, "And the $75 consult fee that we discussed. Did you say on the phone that you'd like me to bill your insurance?" 

There's only one small issue here- there was never a fee discussed. And while I've now been informed (by friends) that this is very common and most offices will not inform you of it in advance, it was clear that this woman was supposed to have discussed it with me and had screwed up. So as far as I was concerned, SHE should be paying for her mistake - not me. 

"You never mentioned a fee on the phone."

"I didn't? Are you sure?"

"I'm certain."

Overhearing this, the doctor says, "It's fine. We'll just do a quick consult out here and there won't be a charge."

Which you would think is lovely but essentially meant, "I'll grace you with 5 minutes of my presence but don't think there will be time for many questions because time is money, kid."

The truth is, her office was not what I particularly imagine a pediatrician's office to be. Let's just say that while I have some liberal ideas about how I might want to handle my child's health, I'm still a Jew from the east coast. In other words, I'm a total snob. I'd love it if my pediatrician were also Jewish and it wouldn't hurt if their office was in Beverly Hills and smelled nice. Judge all you want - I know what I like and I'm NOT afraid to admit it. 

So tomorrow, this house will go visit another pediatrician. Her office is in Beverly Hills. Her last name sounds Jewish. So I guess tomorrow we'll see if I should judge a book by it's cover or not...