Back in the stirrups again: ob-gyn appointments for ME!

Now that it's my turn 'round the reproductively-challenged carousel, I get to go to doctors' offices on my own.  I don't have to wake Heather up with lattes for bribes, or explain to nurses why the fuck there's a bystander to her pap smear.  I don't have to call these offices under her name, or keep tabs on her Social Security number.  I know my own information, I can fill out my own paperwork, and nurses will totally understand why I'm there.  It's my vagina this time, y'all!

I made an appointment at Dr. King's office, feeling less like I need an ob-gyn visit than that I need to get a foot in the door so she can monitor my pregnancy and deliver our baby and generally participate in the fantasy world I'm building.  Based on our experience with Heather's womb, I have very limited expectations of the day coming when we will need someone to deliver our baby, but hell if my low expectations are going to stick me with a back-alley ob-gyn when the time comes.  We're going at this full-tilt.

(Full tilt.  Hehe.  Like Heather's uterus, or my position while in stirrups.  Hehe.)

In fairness, we're not at full tilt yet.  Heather is just now taking an interest, having played it cool for the past several months- and sometimes actively discouraged discussion of our newest effort.  Once bitten, twice shy, I suppose, even though it's occasionally hurt my feelings when she's squashed the topic.  Her recent comment that she's getting excited had me giddy.  Still, I'm trying to keep my mouth shut (trying) so she can feel comfortable with it on her own, and that's kind of inhibiting any momentum from building.

Fuck that.  I'm going to put my own name on the paperwork.