This is only a test...

Women know things.

Men know things, too, but it's not the same.

Men know how to change oil.

They know the location of their wallet.

Or the capital of Wisconsin.

Women know when their child is getting into trouble.

Women know at exactly what second a cop is going to spot her speeding husband's car.

Women know when something bad is going to happen....

I had such a moment.

Several actually, but like a typical woman, I batted it away as feminine paranoia.

I had just left a lecture.

No, not the kind where you come away feeling smarter.

But I definitely felt schooled, after a fashion.

My OB-GYN had taken it upon himself to inform me (silly woman that I am) that even though I had fallen on the ice, even though I had jarred my body sufficiently to send my body into a series of unpleasant contractions due to falling on the ice, that I could not have possibly hurt myself in any way, shape or form, and that my even mentioning it to him was absurd, and that my mother (another woman) couldn't possibly have known she had a placenta previa (the placenta detachment from the uterus) without bleeding, because, after all, he wasn't there to determine if she had one or not, and the chances of having a placenta previa without bleeding was the same as a paraplegic would have. I'm not sure exactly what he meant with the whole paraplegic thing, but it made a mountain of sense to him, and he patted himself on the back and booted me out of the office, tripping me for good measure so I landed on my bum, to which he exclaimed, "See? No bleeding. You are perfectly fine. Now get out of my office."

I left his office disturbed.

I didn't want this man near my unborn baby or my uterus.

Months before, I had had the feeling I should switch doctors, but that seemed like a huge hassle, so I didn't.

Now I was seriously considering it. Especially after he tripped me. That was just mean.

But, I brushed it off, and went along my merry way, hoping that when I finally went into labor, he wouldn't be on call, and I would luck out with another OB-GYN.

A week passed....

I woke up sick.

Not sick as in, "Oh, I need to visit the facilities unless I want to clean carpet later today," but sick, as in sick with horror at going to see that man again.

I determined that my feelings were not just female paranoia.

So I got up, made breakfast, and called the first doctor I found on the list my insurance has of their supported providers. Made a call, set up an appointment, then called and canceled the appointment I had with the old OB-GYN, went down to their office, signed a medical release form, and sat back and enjoyed the flood of relief that washed over me.

Ah...

Doubt, my friends, has a way of creeping in...I started to analyze my decisions, and started to wonder if I was a crazy pregnant lady.

I even said it out loud.

I got a response.

"You ARE a crazy pregnant lady," the voice said. "But that's good!"

"Thanks, Mom..." I replied.

Mom continued to explain that it was me acting on my intuition.

At least, I think that's what she said. I kept replaying her voice in my head over and over: "You ARE a crazy pregnant lady! You ARE a crazy pregnant lady! You ARE a crazy pregnant lady!"

During all the doctor brouhaha, I had also gotten the feeling I should change hospitals, which was a huge leap of faith for me. I LOVE my old hospital.

But I couldn't shake it, so I determined to make the change, and just live with a sub-par labor experience.

Jeremy was super supportive.

"Whatever you want to do," he said. (This is something else men can know: they know when to listen to their wives...)

We determined we should go an check out the new place right away so we weren't caught with our pants down when I finally went into labor. Well, I guess it would probably just be me caught with my pants down, but I'm guessing you didn't need that mental image. You are welcome.

We were on our way home from my nephew's session at the temple, and thought it would be a good time to pre-register at the hospital.

I had been having contractions all afternoon (which may or may not have been due to my futile attempts to put my socks on in a graceful way in the temple...I'm not saying...), and when I climbed out of the suburban to go into the hospital, my body decided it was a good time to metaphorically kick me in the stomach, and I turned to Jeremy and said, "Eeek...maybe I should get checked. Ha. Ha. Ha....)

We walked in, talked to some nurses, filled out some paper work, and then I went into an empty room, threw off my clothes, pulled on a hospital gown, and shouted, "This is SERIOUS, people!"

Four hours later, I was released from the hospital, and told to stay off my feet, since I was five weeks early, and baby apparently wanted out. I was in the early stages of labor, they said.

"GREAT!" I thought. "I wouldn't mind having this baby early!"

Yes, I know, baby needs to be fully developed, blah blah blah, but when you've been carrying a 20 lb bowling ball in front of you for months, it get a little tiresome. Try it some time. You'll probably drop it after about 20 seconds and go back to doing normal people stuff, like tying your shoes, or perhaps, admiring your toes, or, if you are feeling especially fancy, the underside of your belly button. I miss the underside of my belly button...

The doctor (whom I never saw), had ordered Percocet for me to help with pain, but I politely declined.

I'd just had contractions for almost nine hours straight. I was invincible! Painkillers...pff...

As I was lying in bed the next day, I was really wishing I had taken the Percocet home with me. I felt completely beat up.

So I ate an entire box of See's candy to help with the pain, and that seemed to help for a little while, until the heartburn set in, and I felt like I was dying via my esophagus. I would like to say it was worth it, but nothing, nothing is worth heartburn. Not even a box of See's candies.

I don't remember the point of this blog post anymore. I think it was something about women's intuition, or my early labor status, or something. Take what you want from it. Jimmy crack corn.

Edit: OH! I just remembered! The clinic I chose, is, according the nurses at the hospital, an excellent group of doctors, and the hospital has the best NICU in the valley. Booyah for intuition! Well, actually, I should give all the credit to God, since He put the thoughts into my head!