The waiting room of the OB/GYN’s office is filled with pregnant women. I suppose that this can be assumed to be true most of the time. But this time, there were at least 20 of these in the waiting room and they were all massively pregnant. In my mind, I had to prepare for the remote possibility that all would go into labor at the exact moment I sat down and I would be called upon to help with the deliveries.
Our doctor would run out, yell “OH MY GOD” and would quickly point to me and say “Get that man some scrubs!” I would dash to put on my blue power scrubs and we would proceed to deliver 20 babies in under 20 minutes. The newspapers would all want my picture, and being the reluctant hero, I would grudgingly oblige.
There’s not a lot for me to really do when I accompany my wife to our doctor’s visits to check on the status of the new spud except for me to constantly make up Hero scenarios. And as my wife was not there with me at that moment, I had plenty of time to run through several.
As always, going to the OB/GYN’s office is massively creepy but I have found myself to begin to become a little bit comfortable. Not for long mind you, but at least I can go into the waiting room by myself. I used to sit out by the curb until my wife appeared just to prove that I had a purpose of going to the OB/GYN’s office. Other wise I am sure I get the dear god theres a pervert stare from anyone and everyone in the waiting room.
I have found that it is ok if I make a mad dash to the farthest seat away from any woman and promptly plant my face in whatever magazine that happens to be in arms reach. Today it was a copy of “Motherhood” and I read a fascinating article about the pros and cons of having an IUD. Very interesting.
Hossmom shortly showed up and has begun to get that 8 month waddle. And like all the other’s, she is massively pregnant so at least she can blend in. I am sure I stick out like a candle in a dark room. But as she is with me, it is ok for me to be there.
Our wait was short and we were called back by the nurse. I have worked very hard to make every nurse there love me. I compliment, I joke, anything so that they will very quickly show me to the room we will be in so that I may sit behind the closed door and away from the 88 year old on the exam table across the hall. After basically 2 years of this, it has finally worked like a charm and while my wife gives the required urine sample, I am plodded off, head held low, make no eye contact with anyone.
The room itself appears to be quiet comfortable except that there is only one chair in there besides the exam table with the stirrups. There is no place for Dad to sit and for those that are less experienced, this may cause some anxiety. My philosophy is to sit on the doctors chair until he arrives and I have thought about tell him to screw off when he gives me that glance that says I am in his chair. I want to remind him of the rules of shotgun.
My comfort level is pretty high when my wife comes in and sits on her stirrup throne. I was somewhat tired so to my amazement, took a little nap in that small room. My head was on my wife’s leg and my arm was over a stirrup. Yes, I know what the stirrups are for but I must admit, it made a very comfortable arm rest. This proved to be my undoing today.
Everyone has had that nap where they are woken up abruptly. And it does seem that after that happens it takes a good hour before you can get your bearings straight again. You are cloudy, somewhat confused and are trying to decide if you had a dream getting hit in the back of the head or if it was really your wife telling you to stop snoring, the doctor’s here.
At this point, I am discombulated. I see the doctor, I see my wife, I see my arm over the stirrup. Where the hell am I? It’s takes a second for me to realize that I am in the Coochie Clinic and that I have just fallen asleep next to the Coochie Lamp and vaginal sonogram. Once again, I feel like a massive pervert.
I quickly vacate the seat and go stand in my pre-approved corner by the window with the view of anything except a doctor with this head in my wife’s crotch. I rub my eyes and get the sleepiness out of there but this may take a second.
My favorite part of these visits is that I get to hear my kids heartbeat. It sounds like a Mac truck heading for an NFL league leading sack. Everything is good, everything is great. A few more tests and we can leave.
We walk out of the room and my wife is talking to one of the nurses about setting up one of those tests. Then, out of nowhere, my wife says “Move!” and I feel her hand on the back of my neck pushing me forward. For a minute I fear that she has decided that I am no longer necessary and is going to brain me on the door frame. This hacks me off somewhat as I a much, much bigger than my wife and amazed that she seems to think she could take me in a fair fight.
But this is not the case. In my complete and total awkwardness in open spaces I have almost backed up into a nurse caring a full jar of urine. And it had no top. Ok, granted, I am a bit of a lummox. I tend to bump things a lot and when I do, they eventually decide to break. I have actually broken a bathtub with my foot. Complete accident, swear to God. But I slipped and my foot went through the tub.
It is with relief that I see the nurse give me a small grimace and continue on her way with the important cup of urine that could have easily painted my backside. There is a part of me that wants to tell her to quit caring open jars of urine and for Gods Sake Woman get a top on that thing, but I don’t. I am already drawing to much attention to myself, must get out of here as quickly as possible.
So in my awkwardness I notice a large painting that dominates the nurses station. It’s a big picture that is lighted from behind. It’s of a beach, white sand, a few huts and a lot of sunshine. Well hello my happy place, how are you. I can absently stare into your lazy days while ignoring the reality that I am in the one place most guys never want to be.
It’s a very nice picture with a very nice frame. I am studying this like it’s my PHD rather than to actually have to acknowledge anyone around me. It’s then that I see the name of this picture.
“U.S. Virgin Islands”
For the love of God, please someone tell me that they get t hat joke. Come on!
Seriously, the VIRGIN islands? In an OB/GYN’s office? Where everyone here today is 10 months pregnant? THE VIRGIN ISLANDS?! Come on, someone help me out!
There are more Virgins dancing at a strip club than there are in this place. That is the thought that goes through my mind and I lose it. I can’t help it, I lost it bad.
My entire face goes read with embarrassment and I start giggling like I am 10. The giggle turns into a laugh that I am trying to suppress so very very bad. I pull my wife to me and tell her of my discovery. She does not think it is funny, not in the least. I am near tears, there’s drool coming out the corner of my mouth while I’m trying to not laugh. I just can’t, we have to go, we have to go now.
We finally leave and I bust out in full guffaw mode. I again explain to my wife the joke. She tells me that yes, she understood it the first time. She calls me juvenile and a 10 year old. She then suggests that I go tell my Xbox buddies who are 10 so we can all laugh at the joke together. I think that is a marvelous idea because this shit is funny. She gives me a look and we drive home.
The first song on the radio was “Beat It” by Michael Jackson. I have been laughing for a good 24 hours.