this is not The Wife

Well hello there. You should know that The Wife and I have swapped blogs in our efforts to (loosely) celebrate April Fool's Day. If you are completely bereft without The Wife (as really, ANYONE would be, naturally, we just adore her around here) - you may visit her at my blog today, The Creamery. If, however, you don't feel inclined to click on over there immediately, and would care to visit with me for just a moment, do I have the story for you. I'm Whimsy, by the way. I feel that we should at least introduce ourselves because I'm about to tell you what could be considered a very personal story about myself. I should also note that when I mentioned to The Wife that I wanted to tell a story about going to the WOMAN DOCTOR, she was rightly a little (okay, VERY MUCH) aghast. I mean, it's the WOMAN DOCTOR, right? But my answer was this: first, it's a very funny story; and second, it involves nothing about the visit specifics, if you get my drift. So soldier on, dear Burnstopia readers, and hear my cautionary tale.


I went to the gynecologist last Wednesday. As I said, I'm not about to post a bunch of gory details about the visit itself, other than to offer this bit of advice: do not take your 12-month old with you to the gynecologist.

It was a last-minute type of visit (and NO I AM NOT PREGNANT, STOP THAT) so I was obliged to pack Alice along. I brought the following to help my efforts: sippy cup, raisins, cheerios, honey bunny crackers, fishy crackers, toy keys, second set of toy keys, toy cell phone (we're all plugged in like that, yo), stacking cups, favorite book. Basically I brought everything except the kitchen sink. What should I have NOT packed? My dignity. Because it was left squarely on the floor of the examination room.

We didn't have to wait long before the nurse called me in. I figured that the short wait was a good sign - in retrospect, it wasn't anything of the sort. When the nurse brought me into the exam room she offered all the sweet affections that turn my heart into goo (oh what a cute baby! she is just adorable! look at those cheeks!). She even pulled out a basket of toys for Alice to play with. As she ran me through all the perfunctory questions, I asked her if Alice was going to be okay playing on the floor like that - she nodded enthusiastically "Oh yes, she'll be fine. Alright then, the nurse practitioner will be in here in a few minutes - you'll need to get undressed." At which point she hands me The Drape (also known as a Medical Grade Paper Towel that will now be functioning as a too-small SKIRT). A SKIRT that doesn't cover much except for my dignity (which, as we now know, will be left ON THE EXAM ROOM FLOOR. Wait for it.)

When she left, I wondered what I was going to do with Alice while I waited - I couldn't exactly crouch down there with her on the floor, me being pantsless and all. So I dropped my drawers and wrapped myself in the paper towel and hopped up on the table, hoping that the NP would be quick and Alice would be happy. As I waited, I watched Alice grow increasingly more comfortable in her environment: going from quietly sitting on the floor playing with the myriad of toys to shuffling the toys to one side, to sort of tossing various toys in broader arcs around the room, to finally pulling herself up on the bookshelf and starting to inch her way closer to me and the exam table. I don't know about you, but there is something deeply disturbing about a baby using an exam table (WITH STIRRUPS) as a cruising prop. By the time the NP came in, Alice was dancing at the base of the table, considering various ways to scale the thing with her razor-sharp talons. The NP chatted with me a bit as I apologized for Alice's mess. When I suggested that I hold Alice during THE EXAM, the NP nodded brightly, "Oh yes, that will be much better." (I secretly didn't want to subject Alice's young mind to the nurse's eagle eye view, hint hint, wink wink, I think you know what I mean.)

So, let's review: At this point in the story, I am not wearing any pants, I am wrapped in a paper towel, I am lying on an exam table, my feet are planted in the lovely stirrups, a nurse practitioner is down in the eagle eye area, and there is a 12-month-old baby sitting on my belly. Awesome.

As the NP started to do the exam, Alice got squirmy. And by squirmy, I mean she started getting awfully interested in what the NP was doing. So as I struggled vainly to keep both Alice and the paper towel in place, Alice did her level best to reach down to grab the NP's hands and INSTRUMENTS (YOU AND ME BOTH: EWW). So we have one squirmy baby, one nurse practitioner trying to do her job, and yours truly quickly losing hold of the paper towel. When Alice realized that she wasn't being forceful enough, she decided to put her feet into the deal - so she kicked her feet just enough to simultaneously TEAR the paper towel and also cast aside most of the pieces. I am now holding one squirmy baby, and THREE itty bitty paper towel pieces (baby in crook of left arm, one paper towel piece in my left hand, two paper towel pieces in my right hand). In the instant that the two pieces in my right hard start to separate and fall to the floor, the NP says she's through and I can sit up. Yay! .... I mean, YAY! .... I mean.... yay? ....................... I'm stuck. I can't sit up.

With all of Alice's 21 pounds on my belly, and a sincere lack of both balance and leverage, I do my best impression of a pantsless mother turtle that's been flipped on her back: the paper towel bits sort of sandwiched under my thighs, right arm pinwheeling to the ceiling, left arm clutching baby in a death grip lest she go flying headfirst off the exam table, both legs dolphin kicking into the air, as I frantically try to get some kind of foot hold. It is at this point that what is left of the paper towel goes fluttering into the air--- in the slowest of slo-mo, and I find myself yelling, "Noooooo!" The NP lurches back toward the table to pull out a little foot-rest thingy that is supposed to magically redeem my dignity and also give my feet some kind of purchase for, I don't know, flipping myself over to the side? Of the table? Whatever. It is clearly a FAILURE as I just continue to do the whole fish flopping nonsense, now with added sound effects of my wheezing and embarrassed laughter.

The NP then pushes the footstool back into the exam table and steps closer, holding out her hand (this is a brave one, offering her hand to the half-naked wheezing fish flop lady). I go to grab her hand, knowing that this will be the ticket to getting myself off the STUPID table-- but as I get her hand, one of my feet slips and I proceed to kick the nurse practitioner in the stomach---- the entire horrorfest reaches its crescendo as my hand then slips out of her hand, my whole body jerks backwards and I go flying back onto the table. With baby. Have I mentioned in the last 30 seconds that I wasn't wearing any pants?

Dude. Learn your lesson from me. Baby + gyno office? Do not mix. And now that we've had this little talk, go visit The Creamery, and have a wonderful April!