Tour de Stretch-pants

Going on the hospital tour was always an exciting part of having a baby. On both of my tours, I arrived at the meeting spot, my husband in tow, to find several other pregnant women waiting to go on their tours.

Of course, being a female of the overly hormonal variety, I’d size them up. Who looked like she had one too many ice cream sundaes. Who seemed a little neurotic and who decided to do away with fashion totally once finding out she was pregnant.

Yes, I know we were all pregnant and part of that big Vagina Sisterhood, but I couldn’t help but judge.

At the same time, I was wondering if they were judging me. You see, I didn’t want to go on the hospital tour too early. If I did, I’d look like some crazy woman who wasn’t even pregnant wanting to tour labor and delivery. I didn’t want to schedule it too late because what if I went into labor?

No, the middle of the pregnancy was, as Baby Bear would say, “Just right.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at the pregnant women who, when asked their due dates, would reply “Tomorrow!”

Tomorrow? I hate you. I have three more months to go and my butt doesn’t fit into my maternity jeans very well anymore.

The tour can seem a little overwhelming. They show you triage. They show you the rooms and, of course, the stirrups. Perhaps they point out the couch for Daddy/Grandma/Friend/Partner.

It all starts to seem a little too real.

On our first hospital tour, the nurse asked me how I felt. “I’m not so sure I want to do this anymore,” I said.

“Oh, I know, it’s all a big adjustment having a baby for the first time.”

“No, I just don’t want to push it out of my crotch.”