(This is a story from Monday. I'd backdate it, but then you'd never see it.)

My mother made a doctor's appointment without my consent. At the time I was so glad that she had stopped making a fuss about Loftwyr & Gila that I took the path of least resistance & said nothing. I knew that I had a midwife. I knew that I shouldn't double date. I knew that I was making a mistake by letting my mother believe that I wanted a doctor's appointment at all. But I just let things go on because I wanted peace at any price. And frankly, I was so worried about Blake gaining weight that I had stopped thinking about the doctor.

Today we went in to get him weighed & assessed like the jewel he is. It was a miserable morning, and my mother & I didn't get out of the house fast enough to avoid the residue of morning traffic crud. We were 20 minutes late for our appointment, which meant that everything was rushed and compressed and oddly circus-like. I wasn't even in the room when it began, and my mother was firmly running the show by the time I got out of the bathroom.

We had our visit. We celebrated his 5 ounce gain and lauded all of the wet & dirty diapers he's been producing (look, parenting is weird. Deal with it). Hectate corrected a few things about my nursing technique and vastly improved it forthwith. I was still nursing when the appointment ended, so I wandered off down the hall with Blake still at the breast, my modesty preserved by a giraffe-printed receiving blanket. But the last part of the visit had gone...badly.

My mother asked Hectate for a copy of Blake's birth record so that the doctor could see it in the afternoon. Hectate was taken aback, and explained that she preferred advance warning if a baby was going to a doctor (simply because the birth record is just a record of his health at birth, and doesn't include things like the fact that his tiny heart murmur was gone the next day). She then explained that she understood if we wanted to transfer care to someone closer to home, but that she asked that we contact her with any health problem FIRST, because she knows Blake's entire history.

By the time this had wrapped up, I felt utterly and completely broken. Here was my wonderful, patient, forgiving midwife - the woman who got me through the birth with gentleness and firm expertise - the woman who had to put up with 11th hour "I don't know where we're going to be" drama as FCN made her last stand - the woman who drove all the way to a frosty suburbs on a Saturday - and I was allowing my mother to make appointments with other health care providers for no reason other than the say-so of some pig ignorant bitch of a maternity nurse with a bug up her ass and a head full of pointless venom. As I nursed the babbie & stared at my discarded sweat shirt, I struggled to keep my face cool. I have no idea if I was successful.

Before we left, I managed to write a note for the receptionist to give to Hectate after we left. I lied & told my mother that I had forgotten to ask about the herbal suppliments I was taking. Years of practice have rendered me immune to the guilt of lying to my parents. I wish it were otherwise, but it is what it is.

We met with my dad & had lunch at Miller's Country Fare. Blake was outstanding; sleeping through the entire meal and only waking when we got him home. The doctor's appointment was about an hour after we finished at the restaurant, and luckily for me, I started feeling some pretty intense pains in my pelvis that allowed me to cancel the appointment as we drove home. It's a funny thing when you're utterly grateful for the pain of ligaments suddenly shortening.

When Hectate called in the evening, I was rather emotional. Let's just say that we got it well-settled between the two of us, and the call turned into something of a mutual admiration fest. I honestly don't know why she still likes me, but I'm glad that she does.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/17/2003 09:50:00 a.m.