A "get your hopes up" kinda doctors appointment, sprinkled with a bit of anxiety over his math abilities.
It all started when he said, "Well, you're almost 31 weeks, so that's a good sign."
STOP! Back up. Rewind. Let me check those diplomas again. 31 weeks? Uh...nononononono, I don't think so. You don't just rob a woman on bed rest with contractions of 3 weeks, you just DON'T. Not unless you want to lose your life in a very, very painful and public way. (And if the jury really is full of my "peers", then they would all be pregnant women on bed rest, and they would acquit me, easily.)
"Hey, Doc, due dates still Sept. 5th, right?"
That was good enough for me. Though, I'm a bit concerned ol' lazy eye is losing his mind.
"But I don't think you'll make it to September."
Aww, he redeemed himself.
Next, he informed me he's going out of town mid-August for a week. Last time he did this, my water broke with Kembry. I'm ALLLLL for him going out of town. I told him as much.
The appointment ended with those classical OBGYN hints that leave you loving/hating him.
"We'll check you next week, and depending on where you are, I'll let my associates know if they'll be seeing you while I'm out of town."
Oh, they'd better be seeing me. They. Had. Better.
The count down has never looked so promising.