Thursday, March 08, 2012

Weighing on My Mind

For the first time in all my scores of OB visits, I worked up the ’nads to tell the nurse weighing me in at this month’s check-up that I didn’t want to know my weight—she would have to read it off the scale herself. She acted like my request was the most normal thing in the world (surely I’m not the first?) and then kindly (if unconvincingly) made an approving noise after my weight (presumably) registered. I can’t say that it felt like a major triumph—a major triumph would be NOT GIVING A SHIT WHAT I WEIGH WHEN PREGNANT—but given that it’s something I’ve meant to do for seven consecutive months (plus nine consecutive months a while back), I do have to count it in the “win” column.


  1. I can relate. The nurse at my OB's office, bless her heart, would slide the little things back the very second it was balanced so I barely had time to see it even if I wanted to... always smiling approvingly at me.

    I have no idea how much she gets paid but it's not enough.

  2. You are a better woman than I. I cannot stop hopping on the scale every single morning (because I am an INSANE person who likes to TORTURE herself while pregnant, apparently).