So I finally had my first prenatal today. It went well. I had my blood drawn and it was not bad at all. I didn't even panic when Emily said, "Yeah, let's take care of that TODAY." Actually, I think I'm going to do a few more of the small blood draws just to keep up with my iron level.
Actually, this pregnancy is going to go a little differently than the last two. Emily and her midwifery parter, Julie, are sharing patients and so I will go back and forth between the two of them for my prenatals and they will both be at my labor (more than likely. I think Emily would be broken-hearted if she, for some reason, couldn't make it. I know 'cuz she told me so :) ). So, I'm curious about this Julie woman. I have a feeling she might be a little more pushy than Emily is about taking supplements and such. Emily is really cool about letting me do things my own way and if she has advice, she's very gentle about giving it. I don't know about Julie. From the few times I've met her she's seemed really nice, but... well, I just don't know yet. It'll probably be fine, I'm just picky when it comes to who's taking care of me. I think if I hate Julie I can just tell Emily and would just be able to just see her. For now, I know it helps Emily out and so I'll give it a try. Like I said, I'm probably worried/annoyed for no good reason.
So, getting blood drawn today reminded me of getting blood drawn at the hospital when I was a kid. It happened sometime around my lymphnoid-could-it-be-cancer(?) scare when I was 7. For whatever reason Daddy had to take me and I'm pretty sure Mom gave me a death warning not to act terribly and scream like I did when she was around (eventually, I learned [read: was threatened with my life] to "scream in my mouth"). So, Daddy and I went into this area where a bunch of guys in their BDUs were getting shots and whatnot. I sat down (and apparently looked pathetically terrified) next to a soldier getting a shot/blood drawn. He must've seen how scared I was, so he reassured me that he "always [cried] during a shot." They stuck the needle in, and he then proceeded to "boo hoo." But he was "very good" and didn't move or squirm while he was getting poked. Then he wiped his tears and reassured me once again that it was OK to cry.
Well, I bought it. Hook, line, sinker and all that. I was fully convinced that this ripped man in army boots was truly upset and hurt when he had to get his shots. So I felt very brave. The memory is vivid enough in my mind that when I look back I can remember his face and see how much he was hamming it up all to give a pitiful little girl some comfort.
So, all that was to say that today, I was very brave. And I didn't even cry.