31 weeks and counting. I had a dream last night that I was in labor. I mean, I wasn't actually in labor, but the dream sequence alluded to me being in labor. Then, Kasia ripped me from my sleep by wanting to do snugglies at 3 AM. I will never turn down my sweet dog for snugglies.
I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow with Bitch Doctor. Let me elaborate-- (we'll call her Cindy) Cindy had been my ob/gyn since I moved to the suburbs. So, for the past 3 years I would see Cindy once a year or so to get my script for birth control, or whatever tuning I needed.
When I took a positive pregnancy test, Cindy confirmed that I was pregnant.... all good. Then, around week 25 or so, I asked for her to write an official note indicating that air travel would be limited (due to my feet and hands swelling post-flight). Cindy wouldn't do it. She said there was no medical reason why my hands and feet were swelling and thus, couldn't write a note. Bitch. Fine. I can live with that, but only after a sobbing meltdown to my twin sister.
Week 27 rolls around and I had another appointment with a different doctor in the practice (they rotate doctor's because you never know who will be on call when "D" day arrives). Dr. Gallo is the ob who confirmed that our son was in fact a son. He also shares the same birthday as Chris. Serendipitous? I think so.
So, I see Dr. G and take another stab at a no air travel note. Before the words rolled off my tongue, he was done writing the thing. "Jennifer Willis will no longer be able to travel after today's date." Done. How easy was that? Mad props to Dr. G and muff punches to Cindy the Bitch.
Fast forward to last week when I had to have a sleepover in the hospital. Bitch Doctor happens to be on call. Shit. Was she bitchy you ask? Of course.
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