For me, pregnancy was a mix of juxtaposing emotions. My pregnancy was unplanned and I had no idea how to be a mom; I didn't know what to expect during my pregnancy except what I had learned from others and from the media (which is usually horrifically inaccurate). While I didn't necessarily mind being pregnant, that last month was anything but enjoyable. I remember thinking things every woman who hates pregnancy thinks about her OB-GYN during those necessary, weekly appointments; keeping those thoughts to myself and wishing, hoping and praying that this pregnancy would be over, I could finally stop being miserable and I could finally meet my baby girl.
During my last month of pregnancy, I slowly got more and more uncomfortable. I had relentlessly itchy palms and feet; I couldn't sit or lay in any position that felt comfortable; I had to pee every two hours and, well, I was a nightmare. In other words, I hated being pregnant and I dreaded going to my OB-GYN appointments because, well, they were just a reminder that I was still pregnant. (Of course, the poking and prodding — while necessary — wasn't all that helpful, either.)
To be completely honest, I was pretty unfair to my OB-GYN as I neared my due date. While, rationally, I knew she as doing everything she could to ease my discomfort and so much of it was really and truly out of her control, I needed a place to focus all my frustrated energy on and, well, it was her. So, if you're not necessarily enjoying your pregnancy, and thinking some "colorful" things about your OB-GYN, know that you're not alone. You're human. You're miserable. You deserve to think the following things.
"You Literally Have No Idea What You're Talking About"
No one understands the pain and discomfort this pregnancy is currently causing me. No one. Not a single woman who has been pregnant. Not a single woman who is currently pregnant. Not a single person who makes it their life's work to care for pregnant women. Certainly not you, Doc, with your fancy words and your fancy coat and your endless tests and your kind, understanding gestures. Nope. You just don't know.
"OK, This Is Your Job, So Maybe You Do Know What You're Talking About"
Then again, when my moment of frustration or hormonal rage or just exhaustion passes, I'm usually able to admit that, yes, a doctor with years of schooling and experience probably knows a thing or two about pregnancy.
Hey, you find solidarity anywhere you can get it when you're pregnant and miserable. Trust me.
"This Will Be The Last Time I See You. Seriously Never Coming Back Here Again..."
This is pointless and this is uncomfortable and this person with a doctor's coat just told me that I'm not even close to having this baby and nope, I'm not coming back. It's not happening. It's not happening because if this "doctor" says I'm not dilated even a tiny little bit, one more time, I am going to lose my pregnant mind.
"...Except When I Came To Come Back Next Week, I Guess"
Fine. I'll go back for next's week appointment. I guess. I'm not going to be happy about it, though.
(Unless you tell me this baby is coming. Please, oh please; tell me this baby is coming.)
"You're A Sadist, Aren't You?"
Is it just me, or when you're near the end of your pregnancy or nearing your due date, your OBGYN seems less like a trusted ally or friend, and more like a sadist who just loves to see you in pain? No? Just me? OK, cool. Good to know.
"Just Take This Kid Out Of Me Now"
I am sick and tired of being pregnant. Seriously, I call game over. I'm waving my white flag. I'm done. Take this kid out of me. No really, let's do this right here and now. How bad can it be, right?
Alright, dear doctor. If you can't get this child out of me right here and now, I see no use for you. I mean, honestly. What is the actual point of these visits, anyway?
(OK, those doctor visits are actually very important, so please go to them. Yes, they can be frustrating, but they do serve a purpose. I promise.)
"Wait, You Control The Drugs? Yeah, You're My New Best Friend."
Alright, maybe our relationship has taken a turn for the worst. Let's just get back to neutral and reevaluate. After all, you're going to help me bring my child into the world. You've been with me throughout this entire pregnancy process, answering my endless questions and keeping me informed about my baby's progress. In the end, you're the one that will get the anesthesiologist to my room and hook me up with that beautiful, wonderful epidural.
You're my favorite person, I can assure you. Just please, tell me I'm close to having this kid already, OK?