My Eggo's Prego

What my womb looked like 2 weeks ago.

Garsh. Thanks for all the kind words. Yes, schwanger means pregnant. I am pregnant. And I'm thrilled that you all have added another word to your list of German vocabulary, which, until now has been limited to Gesundheit, Kindergarten, Nazi and Bratwurst.

For the record, I'm going to try to avoid turning this blog into a pregnancy play-by-play since, as I'm quickly learning, I find all of this a lot more interesting than anyone else does. But I'm sure it'll come up, so you've been warned. First of all, let's get the stats out of the way:

— I'm due Nov. 18.
— Miraculously, I have not thrown up once.
— I'm starving all the time.
— My bosoms have blossomed rather obscenely.
— I have to pee all the time.
— I'm starting to get a small bump.

Secondly, let's discuss going to the doctor in Germany. We found this totally cute young woman doctor at the university hospital who doesn't look any older than Jake and who speaks pretty good English with an adorable Heidi Klum accent. So the appointments are mostly in English, which is hugely comforting.

***SQUEAMISH MALE READERS SHOULD SKIP THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH***

My first impression of going to a German gynecologist as opposed to an American gynecologist is pretty much that Germans like their doctor's appointments like they like everything else. No fluff. Just do the dang thing and get me out. Women, you know how at the gyno in America, you put on your little paper gown in private and then, after hopping into the stirrups, the doctor makes kind of a fuss about warning you before they, you know, start? Well, here, they just say, "Drop your drawers." And if you know of a more vulnerable feeling than standing in nothing but your shirt, cardigan and socks while two or more people bustle around you, I'd really like to hear about it. I think I'd almost rather be buck naked. Anyway, then you jump on the table at which point there are immediately all manner of ... uh ... instruments being ... uh, you know ... applied, without so much as a, "1, 2, 3, go." It was a little, I'll say, breathtaking. But, true to German form, they are fast, which I appreciate, so I won't complain too much.

***SQUEAMISH MALE READERS MAY CONTINUE READING***

Another interesting moment came at my next appointment when the doctor was asking me a bunch of health-related questions.

Cute young doctor: How much do you weigh?
JEM: Right now? About 120.
CYD: (stares at me blankly, not writing)
JEM: (fidgets nervously)
CYD: In pounds or ...?
JEM: Oh my gosh! We're on the metric system! Yes, 120 pounds. I don't know how many kilos I weigh.

Turns out I weigh 54.5 kilograms, which is a heck of a lot less than 120 kilograms. Then she asks me my height, in centimeters, which I also don't know, so the doctor and I stand nose to nose and she determines that we're about the same. I can't even remember what that measurement was. Remember as a kid when you were trying to learn your phone number and your address and your birthday and it just felt like you'd never get all the numbers straight? Yeah. All over again.

A cool thing about being prego in Germany is that I get to carry a Mutterpass or Mother Passport with me everywhere I go.


This has an ultrasound pic of Junior in it and all manner of vital information about Junior's and my health. Every pregnant woman in Germany gets one of these and we are all expected to have it on our person at all times. The idea is that if I'm ever in an accident or anything, everyone will know that I'm in a family way. I also, apparently, need to show it if I travel by air at any point during the pregnancy. Mostly, though, it just makes me feel important and special.

I think that about covers it for now. Like I said, I'll try to spread these out, but, in the meantime, thanks for indulging me.



JEM