Yesterday morning (and early afternoon) was all about The Excitement. We had our second prenatal appointment in the afternoon and were just. plain. stoked. to see our little one again.
And then The Shit Hiteth The Fan… eth.
I should have seen it coming with the first phone call from the doctor’s office. “We had a couple cancellations,” the nurse said, “and were wondering if you could come in at 2:00 or 2:15?” Read: an hour and a half before your scheduled appointment. Answer: No. “Okay, we’ll see you at 3:30 then!”
Fast forward three hours, and I receive another phone call while at work: “The doctor has a patient going into labor, so we’re going to need to reschedule. Does tomorrow or Thursday work for you?” Answer: Um, NO.
What my doctor’s office fails to understand, apparently, is that I work in a small office. A lot of the time – like, for example, tomorrow and Thursday – I’m the only one in the front office. Which means I can’t leave. Not even a little early.
So yeah, while I understand and fully appreciate the doctor rearranging her schedule to be at the birth of one of her patients (because, one day this winter, THAT WILL BE ME AND DAMN IT I WANT HER THERE), I was still bummed. No, correction, I AM bummed. The Fiance and I were were really excited to see the little one again. I may or may not have shed a tear or two after hanging up the phone. (And before you ask, yes I did fully express my general displeasure with the whole situation. The nurse understood it loud. and. clear.)
Previously in: Baby!