A Trip to the Gynecologist

Standard

I was sitting in my gyno’s office today waiting to get called in for my lady bits inspection. My appointment was for 10:15am and it was 10:30. I’d been waiting there since 10am so I was getting fairly irritated. So there I sat in the waiting room filled to bursting with women, getting angrier and angrier every time that the receptionist called a name that wasn’t mine. As I was telling myself to read more of my book and to be patient, I saw a lady with a baby kneel down on the floor and lay her kid back on a blanket.

“Oh no she isn’t!” I immediately thought.

But oh she she did.

Right there in figurative middle of the waiting room, this lady decided to change her kids diaper instead of going to use a washroom. I wasn’t bothered by the fact that she decided to change the kid where she changed him, I was just worried that it was going to be a messy, stinky diaper. If it was messy and stinky, I would gag and probably puke or do something else equally ridiculous. It’s just a reflex. I have never been ok with stinky diapers. Even after spending most of my summer baby-sitting a two-year old, I still wasn’t used to poopy diapers.

So I did the only that I could think to do. I held my breath and focused on my book, hoping that I wasn’t about to be blasted with the smell of poopy diaper. Thankfully, no smell came and the lady got the kids butt all cleaned up and the dirty diaper all rolled up. One of the receptionists was nice enough to bring a trash bin over for her to toss the diaper out.

After she tossed the diaper out, the lady reached into her diaper bag to grab a clean diaper and she came out empty handed. Curious, I sat and watched as she sat up a little straighter, picked up her diaper bag and opened it up as wide as it could go. I watched as this horrible moment of defeat washed over this woman. Her shoulders slumped, but she continued to frantically dig through that bag. I started to root for her. Hoping against hope that she was going to have a Mary Poppins moment, shove her whole arm in the bag, and come out holding a fresh diaper.

It didn’t happen. She didn’t find a fresh diaper. And that kid couldn’t have been more happy. Bare bottomed and clean, she decided that it was time to roll over and crawl away from her mom. Wanting to be helpful, I immediately started thinking of temporary diaper alternatives. I couldn’t think of anything. Maybe stick two pads back to back and tape it on?

Maybe I should offer to run and buy diapers for the lady?

What about using a shirt or towel and stick a pad to that? Pads are supposed to absorbent right?

Thankfully another mom noticed this ladies predicament and gave her a clean diaper. It looked too big, but it was something right?

After that I suddenly didn’t care about waiting to get my lady bits looked at. For all I cared, they could have rotted off because what I witnessed was just more evidence about why I should never be a mom because I would totally be the mom and always forgot extra diapers and would try and tie a t-shirt onto my kids butt with a pad stickied onto the inside.

Advertisements

Singing the 90’s

Standard

I can’t sing to save my life, but I love to sing. One of the best feelings in the world for me is the be cruising like a bat out of hell down an empty highway at 2am while I blast all the songs that I know all the words to so I can sing everything horribly and loudly. Except this isn’t a group exercise. I don’t do this with other people in the car. Sometimes I do it in the shower. For me, this is more of an alone activity just because I like to really let go and be ridiculous.

Let’s face it, I don’t like to be judged and therefore I try not to do things that I would get judged for. I try not to care, but lots of times I do. So when I really want to let loose, I make sure it’s just me, loud music, and a place where I can contort in a reasonable facsimile to dancing. Then I do it like no one is looking, because I’m fair certain that no one is looking.

So last night was weird. I wound up talking to a friend for a few hours over Skype and it was just a whole lot of nothing until he got excited about a song that came on his radio.

Him: Guess what song this is!

Me: It’s probably the doom song.

Him: No. Just guess the song when I sing it!

Then he belted out the lyrics from “Truly, Madly, Deeply,” by Savage Garden. I knew that song. Every. Single. Word. I’d like to say I knew every single note, but I can’t read music, but damn if I didn’t know and love that song.

So he came up with the idea that we would sing each other songs from the 90’s. Then we would guess what we were singing. I thought it was an odd idea, but ok. I went for it. And he really went for it. Song after song, he belted out like there was no tomorrow. He shouted my ear drums raw. He sang every single lyric like I do when I’m flying down a highway like a demon escaping the heavens. Every single word that left his lips sounded like he was so excited that he could have probably peed himself if he didn’t have the bladder control of a normal sober man in his mid-twenties.

At first I just kind of shy sang-spoke my lyrics. I chose my songs by skipping through a 90’s playlist that I have on my computer.

We the Cranberries, the Fugees, Nirvana, Sinead O’Connor, Smashmouth, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Backstreet Boys, House of Pain, Marcy Playground, and even the Marcarena.

Back and forth we went. Him singing his lungs raw and being so passionate that he was about to lose control of his bladder and me, just gently singing whatever lyrics I could find.

WannabeUntil “Wannabe” came on by the Spice Girls.

I can’t resist “Wannabe”. When that song comes on, I stop caring about anything because this is just such a ridiculous song from my pre-teenagehood that I have to not care. When that song comes on, the rest of the world can go fudge itself. I have to sing. It’s like a weird singing poltergeist possesses me. I start to contort and flail around while my face scrunches up like it does when I’m having a hard time pooping. My toes curl! My mouth opens ever so slightly.¬†And that’s when all the words to this song come pouring out like some sort of song vomit because this is what I really really want. This weird happy feeling that I only get when I’m having fun or drinking espresso. The hyper, giddy, giggly feeling as all the words ejaculate themselves off my tongue and into the air as sounds.

After that it was on. My friend and I spent another hour belting out our favourite songs from the 90’s. Then with sore throats, and raspy voices we said good night and went on to do other things that normal adults do when it’s 10pm and you have to get up the next morning for work.