Walking to the subway from my visit to my o.b., I realized I had no idea how well the baby was growing because I had gotten sidetracked by my doc’s warm personality. She has a real girlfriend vibe about her and in our ten-minute appointment where she simply measured my belly with a tape measurer, she and I ended up chatting about our husbands’ personalities and how we are wired differently from them. She is the opposite of my previous rush-rush-rush older male o.b. who charmed me at the initial visit with his warm Italian uncle routine but once he had hooked me as a new patient, he even asked me not to ask questions at our monthly visit because he was too tired and my questions so routine. Not a bad guy but not touchy-feely at all, especially at the delivery where some support would be nice. The nurses were intimidated by him and he didn’t explain what he was about to do when his entire forearm seemed to reach right into me to break my water. He was going on vacation immediately after my baby arrived so he seemed to want to bone out right quick. Maybe it worked because I had such a swift delivery, especially considering it was my first baby. Checked into the hospital at 12:06 am on Thanksgiving Day 2010. Micah arrived at 6:26 am Thanksgiving morning.
My new female o.b. remarked again how funny she thought I was. She has said it before at least a couple times each visit but today she kept shaking her head, fist-bumping me saying, “Have you always been this funny? You really are a funny girl!” looking deep into my eyes.
I felt sheepish and Joy Luck Clubby because I really didn’t say anything riotously funny and she was making a big deal out of it. She seemed so amazed and surprised that I was funny. It came up while she was telling me not to go to the playground so much with Micah since it’s much harder in the heat and this far along. To relax by going on playdates at other mamas’ homes so that I can just park myself on the couch. I told her I would never be able to just sit there as I have to watch my boy, make sure he doesn’t knock down anything or get into other kids’ faces, even though he is hardly ever aggressive. She said, “Sure you can just sit there!” (She has three kids of her own so she is very experienced.)
I said something about well, I never want to be a gross mama who doesn’t watch her own child especially like those extreme mamas whose children can never do no wrong. How their kid will slap a child silly and the mama will just say, “Oh, he is just so curious!” without any apology. We bonded over how we always correct our kids even at a young age because we want them to learn right from wrong. But she asked again, truly wondering, “Were you always this funny!?”
(I told you I didn’t say anything really funny. Just imitated annoying mamas per usual).
I said, “Well, I was nominated Best Sense of Humor back in my high school days. Some people didn’t vote for me because they said I didn’t LOOK funny. I guess I can look kind of corporate?” I was being Al Bundy, reliving my glory days, but she asked for it, inquiring about the origin and development of my sense of humor.
“Yeah, it’s really unexpected because of your ethnicity.” She responded without pause. I agreed.
Walking away from that visit, I realized I have no idea if my baby is growing as he or she should be right now. I am gonna guess yes since my doctor didn’t flag anything. Need to focus next time. Also, what she said about ethnicity. I found it to be nakedly honest. A bit surprising that she admitted it since people try to be so damn P.C. these days. It’s true that most people don’t expect Asians to be funny and she straight up admitted that casually during our ten-minute girlfriend-like chat. No wonder she would always be surprised by my personality during each visit. Proves that people definitely believe in stereotypes and only fools wanting to be applauded on talk shows go around saying, “I don’t see color.” But is it really that surprising that an Asian-American gal can be funny? Would it be less surprising if I just sat there very quiet and demure, artfully peeling an apple while waiting for her to come in? Giggling off to the side with my hand covering my mouth? Offering her a quick dry cleaning of her doctor’s white coat?
I meant to write about how much of an uproar my Not Finding Out Baby’s Sex has turned out to be but I totally went on a tangent. Goodnight.