filthy New York pavement, smiling and imagining walking the same city streets with him and the baby.
June 14
Heartbeat! Oh my God. The most outrageous thing I have ever heard. I went in for my second prenatal with Dr. Lowen and, as usual, it was in and out, but the “in” included hearing my baby’s heartbeat. Dr. Lowen was completely unimpressed, and she’s allowed, considering she hears a gajillion baby heartbeats a day. But I was completely, totally, stupendously overwhelmed. I was floating all over the office. It was all I could do to keep myself from grabbing the Doppler ultrasound and holding it to my stomach for hours.
I am happy to report that the heartbeat is absolutely perfect. Strong, fast, well paced. I took this as another sign that I really do have a baby inside of me. This isn’t some vast conspiracy to trick me into believing something that isn’t true. In six more months, a real live baby is going to come out of my body and make me a mother. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true.
To add to my growing distaste for the whole doctor vibe, on my way out the receptionist handed me my “complimentary” diaper bag. It was full of formula samples and coupons for several other baby products. I could take the appreciative and noncynical tack, but I can’t believe doctors allow themselves to be the middle-men and -women for these companies. In the intimacy of my doctor’s office, where I am, by design, vulnerable and open to her suggestion, seeking it even, I am being marketed to. Am I being too sensitive? It’s like commercials at the movies times a hundred.
When I gave the bag back to the nurse, declining politely, she looked at me like I was crazy. Just keep it, she said, you might need it. I just put it on the counter. I don’t think so, but thank you so much. Then I worried for an hour that I had come across as an arrogant, ungrateful bitch.
Glen continues to think I should find another OB. He was over Dr. Lowen when we went in for the fertility consultation and she made a remark about men getting bent out of shape when women, “who do so much,” ask them to “do a little thing like take a motility test.” He felt the remark was insulting, considering all he does, and insensitive, considering the societal mandate that “real men” be virile in the same way that “real women” should be fertile. Even though it isn’t a big issue for him, he thinks it is callous for a doctor to miss the fact that motility can be a sore spot for men.
He’s right, of course. He totally clocked one of those gynic moments that make me cringe. Moments in which women intent upon “claiming their power” do or say things that belittle the men they say they love.
I mostly agree with Glen about finding another doctor, but the idea of starting the search makes me want to go take a nap. I have been seeing Dr. Lowen for a few years and, I tell Glen with a grin, she’s got biracial kids. Glen has accused me of being a sucker for the parents of mixed-race kids more than once. I project noble qualities onto them and make excuses for their bad behavior.
Glen shakes his head. He’s not happy that the criteria for staying with the gynecologist who might deliver our baby is her biracial children, but he doesn’t revisit the highly contentious discussion we’ve been having lately about how all of the big baby decisions seem to be made exclusively by me, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the respite.
June 22
Had a long discussion with my lobbyist friend Rachel about how many women rely on the samples given to them by their obstetricians because, unlike most developed nations, America has no social support system to speak of for new parents. Paid parental leave, which can be up to two years in countries like Sweden and Denmark and divided between two parents, is virtually nonexistent here, with American women getting only six weeks, if they’re lucky. High-quality public child care for preschool-aged
June 14
Heartbeat! Oh my God. The most outrageous thing I have ever heard. I went in for my second prenatal with Dr. Lowen and, as usual, it was in and out, but the “in” included hearing my baby’s heartbeat. Dr. Lowen was completely unimpressed, and she’s allowed, considering she hears a gajillion baby heartbeats a day. But I was completely, totally, stupendously overwhelmed. I was floating all over the office. It was all I could do to keep myself from grabbing the Doppler ultrasound and holding it to my stomach for hours.
I am happy to report that the heartbeat is absolutely perfect. Strong, fast, well paced. I took this as another sign that I really do have a baby inside of me. This isn’t some vast conspiracy to trick me into believing something that isn’t true. In six more months, a real live baby is going to come out of my body and make me a mother. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true.
To add to my growing distaste for the whole doctor vibe, on my way out the receptionist handed me my “complimentary” diaper bag. It was full of formula samples and coupons for several other baby products. I could take the appreciative and noncynical tack, but I can’t believe doctors allow themselves to be the middle-men and -women for these companies. In the intimacy of my doctor’s office, where I am, by design, vulnerable and open to her suggestion, seeking it even, I am being marketed to. Am I being too sensitive? It’s like commercials at the movies times a hundred.
When I gave the bag back to the nurse, declining politely, she looked at me like I was crazy. Just keep it, she said, you might need it. I just put it on the counter. I don’t think so, but thank you so much. Then I worried for an hour that I had come across as an arrogant, ungrateful bitch.
Glen continues to think I should find another OB. He was over Dr. Lowen when we went in for the fertility consultation and she made a remark about men getting bent out of shape when women, “who do so much,” ask them to “do a little thing like take a motility test.” He felt the remark was insulting, considering all he does, and insensitive, considering the societal mandate that “real men” be virile in the same way that “real women” should be fertile. Even though it isn’t a big issue for him, he thinks it is callous for a doctor to miss the fact that motility can be a sore spot for men.
He’s right, of course. He totally clocked one of those gynic moments that make me cringe. Moments in which women intent upon “claiming their power” do or say things that belittle the men they say they love.
I mostly agree with Glen about finding another doctor, but the idea of starting the search makes me want to go take a nap. I have been seeing Dr. Lowen for a few years and, I tell Glen with a grin, she’s got biracial kids. Glen has accused me of being a sucker for the parents of mixed-race kids more than once. I project noble qualities onto them and make excuses for their bad behavior.
Glen shakes his head. He’s not happy that the criteria for staying with the gynecologist who might deliver our baby is her biracial children, but he doesn’t revisit the highly contentious discussion we’ve been having lately about how all of the big baby decisions seem to be made exclusively by me, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the respite.
June 22
Had a long discussion with my lobbyist friend Rachel about how many women rely on the samples given to them by their obstetricians because, unlike most developed nations, America has no social support system to speak of for new parents. Paid parental leave, which can be up to two years in countries like Sweden and Denmark and divided between two parents, is virtually nonexistent here, with American women getting only six weeks, if they’re lucky. High-quality public child care for preschool-aged
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