the doctor and the wasp

Today we got two biggies checked off the to-do list.

1. I am fully registered for birthing.
I had to fill out a packet of paperwork for the hospital but then had a 20-minute call with maternity admissions to go over things like if I've ever had polio. (I have not but most definitely giggled when they asked me. No offense to anyone who has had polio, especially Mr. Roosevelt.) They were very supportive of natural birth and noted in my charts that a nurse will be assigned that could help me achieve that goal.They will also help with breastfeeding and even have outpatient help available once I'm home.

Also, valet parking IS available as long as I come in during normal working hours. Hopefully baby heard that.

All I have to do is sign consent forms when I come in and then push a baby out. No problem, right?

2. We have a pediatrician.
The office has both well and sick child waiting rooms and then a teen room. We were told to wait in the teen room which all I could think was people are totally judging us, those damn 16-year-olds getting knocked up.

We met our doctor, who we both felt comfortable with, and answered all of our random questions.

- We need a rectal thermometer despite newborn class teacher saying we don't.
- Swaddling should only be done until baby is four months old. Then, no more.
- They do the kind of circumcision that requires less after care. Every time I think about this happening, I feel like someone is punching me in the gut. I think this might mean I'm becoming a real mother.
- No baby powder. Baby powder is bad.
- The pediatrician will visit us while we're in the hospital everyday and then we'll see her a couple days after being home since we're breastfeeding. Then, the big check-up is after two weeks.

Shea also tested out the doctor's bedside manner by making her look at my wasp sting.

This morning I was taking out the trash in the rain. Then a huge, ugly wasp stung me on my forearm causing me to scream, which made the dog start screaming, which caused me to drop the trash all over the porch. So there I was, sobbing hysterically with wet hair, a huge pregnant belly and chicken juice all over my flip flops. I did the only logical thing and burst into the bathroom where the hubs was taking a shower, and in between sobs/hiccups, told him my sad story. 

The doctor looked at my arm and said to put baking soda paste on it. As we were leaving, she yelled down the hallway, "don't let her take out the trash anymore!"

Hopefully the baby boy doesn't need a lot of medical care. I do worry about his mother.