ObGyN da house

I went to my fabulous ObGyn, Dr. Tristan Bickman yesterday. Everything was just as I suspected: chemical pregnancy... very common... good sign overall because apparently it proves that J's sperm thinks my egg is hot, even if it wasn't the right match this time. An ultrasound showed that my uterus looks honky dory. As far as procreation is concerned, we are cleared for take off!

Sitting in the waiting room turned out to be an interesting experience, however. Back when I visited the Gynnie as a single gal, I would walk to the magazine rack on the wall in search of a nice InStyle or Elle to peruse while waiting for my AVI (Annual Vagina Inspection). Inevitably, the only reading material I'd be able to locate were publications aimed at parents. I knew they were aimed at parents and not single girls because they had cryptic titles like Parenting.

It became the thing I most dreaded about visiting the office. Not the stirrups. Not the clamps. The magazine rack: one giant reminder of the fact that I had yet to find someone I wanted to have a second date with, much less a baby. And now, to make matters worse, I had nothing to read. So I would look around the room at the soon-to-be moms and resent them for having moved on to this stage in life so effortlessly. What did they know that I didn't? That rack taunted me with a sense of guilt and inferiority; it might as well have been my mother hanging on the wall.

All I wanted was a cheesy fashion magazine to provide me with tips about what I should wear on a first date. This type of subscription seemed like it would be a valuable investment for the office. After all, the sooner I met a man and got married, the sooner I'd return, belly full o'fetus to give my lady-parts doctor more business. Until then, Family Circle just wasn't going to cut it.

But yesterday, I saw the plethora of proud pregnant women showing off growing baby bumps, and new mothers trying to soothe fussy infants on their laps, with a fresh perspective -- a mix of awe and wonder infused with healthy doses of envy and excitement. Knowing I was now in a position to join their ranks helped me relish an impulse I wasn't sure I would ever be able to embrace: my maternal instinct.

I stood up, strode with newfound confidence toward the rack on the wall, and, for the first time ever, reached my hand out without shame or hesitation, to pick up a magazine that was now pertinent and vital to my life:

The latest issue of People.