You know you're in the Mother-Hood when...

You Know You're in the MotherHood When...

You've sniffed a spot on your shirt and been able to determine the origin of said spot with CSI efficiency.

You let someone see you basically naked because he said he was an anesthesiologist.

It's a good day if you actually had time to shower, without interruptions or an audience of any kind.

Your meal plan has consisted of eating whatever mac and cheese is left in the pot after you've served it to the kids.

A drawing of you with a head the size of a watermelon is the prettiest picture you've ever seen.

Everyone but you being asleep counts as "alone time."

You feel a sense of accomplishment if you read an entire article in People magazine in one sitting.

You can name 3 out of 5 Backyardigans - you know you can.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Never Forget When It's Time to Saddle Up!

I committed one of the cardinal sins of womanhood today.
I was supposed to get my pap smeared, and I forgot. Well, it's quite possible that I blocked it out. After all, when you make an appointment, a YEAR in advance no less, and it's not exactly a home massage with Clooney - it stands to reason that it slipped my mind.
Knew it was approaching. I figured it had to be sometime this or next month. I love my doctor, but she runs a very small office and they don't do the reminder call thing. So there was no, "We can't wait for you to come in, drop trow and lay there while we have a random conversation with you about the Oscars as we excavate your va jay jay - see you tomorrow at 11:00!"
Dialing it back twelve months, I recall having a premonition that I would not remember this next appointment. Yes, I remember thinking I would forget.
It's kinda like ESP only way less helpful.
The lovely nurse handed me my appointment card, and I thought, "Yeah, I'll be able to hold onto this for a year without losing it." All I had to do was keep it safe for nine months till the new calendars came out, then I could write it in myself. Are you piecing together how well that worked out for me?
I blame my body. No, not the obvious faltering memory excuse. Not even the whole, girl parts are so much more complicated than boy parts, what a pain excuse.
Nope, I blame my thyroid.
Fueled by the constant urging of my mother, I had my thyroid checked last year. I was exhausted. I was trying to lose weight but was stuck at a plateau. Unfortunately, my plateau was not pool side with a great view of the beach. My plateau is a few mesas up, in the land of yoga pants and stretch tees.
So there I sat, ready to hear my doctor tell me that my thyroid was outta whack and prescribe the perfect solution.
Yeah, no so much.
Turns out my thyroid's fine. Good news.
Bad news is that I'm apparently slightly overweight because I'm lazy and I don't eat right. Damn. Thought surely this was my medical loophole to a whole new me!
So yeah, after all that great news, the appointment card went into the side pocket of my wallet - you know, the one that is there but you're really not sure what for? The same one you find a random receipt for a gift you bought someone three years ago. There it stayed until I switched from my summer purse to my fall/winter purse. I do recall it making the switch. I only have one wallet, so that little card had no choice.
Is it still in my wallet? Honestly, I am a bit chicken to go check. It very well may be. Or, it may have lost its way during one of my two year old's rounds of take-everything-out-of-Mommy's-wallet-then-put-it-back-wherever games. Those are fun for the whole family.
I really just feel bad for missing the appointment. Spa pedicure it's not, but I am one of those people who likes to get to the movies before the lights dim and I'm generally early for fear of keeping someone waiting. It doesn't help that this doctor is one of my mother's best friend's, so I feel doubly bad because she did me a favor by adding me to her already full patient roster.
But, as most problems turn out to be, this one is easily solved.
I just received an email, and my doctor has an opening in two weeks. My mom is going to get her a bottle of her favorite wine "from me" as a
Thanks for Dealing with my Dumb Ass Daughter Gift.
So, now I have two weeks to look forward to every woman's favorite few minutes a year. But hey, it gives me two weeks to think of another random test to ask them to run or fourteen days to fad diet my way down to a better weight - it goes on your permanent record there for Pete's sake!