OK, ok. I get that the doppler is nothing more than crack cocaine ramped on a 9-volt battery with a side of blue goo (I’m going to convince myself that the goo will keep my skin soft and supple to ward off stretch marks). I also get that my paranoia about Murdock is wearing your tolerance thin.
Don’t you think I want to be all happy-clappy about this? I keep telling myself that one of these days it’s going to happen…but let’s not fool ourselves (me), OK? I know that even if Murdock is delivered healthy, I’m going to be that Mom who will keep him/her cloistered away until they are 18 (and 1/2) years old – not to mention keeping him/her sleeping on one of those motion-alarm-bed thingys even through college.
And as sick as you may get hearing about it once in a while, you are the only ones I can really tell this to. I don’t have to see your eyes roll or hear the clucking of your tongues. The internet has so many advantages.
My next appointment is April 2. The receptionist suggested April 1 and I almost reached across the counter and conked her on the head, V8 style. I also told my OB that I had borrowed a doppler. He told me he wasn’t surprised.
I promise to try to control my doppler obsession. I’d hate to think that under the guise of a baby shower, I’d be walking into a Doppler Intervention arranged by my blogging friends.