So last night was the Super Bowl. We were headed to some friends of ours–one of whom happens to be a plastic surgeon.  Not a bad friend to have, methinks, as I fear what will be left of my now tight nine month belly in about two weeks.  This is my third pregnancy.  We have two beautiful girls and are looking forward to meeting our third child, who according to the ultrasounds, is all boy.

Heading anywhere at 4:30 in the afternoon is not usually high on my list of fun things to do with the girls these days.  They are five and a half and almost three years old.  By 4:30 I am physically exhausted–from the extra weight I am carrying and spending most of everyday with my daughters–cleaning, cooking, chasing.  Every day, I contemplate the lesser of two evils–having the two year old nap and go to bed later–or plowing through the siesta hours of the day and guaranteeing her and myself an earlier bedtime.  We knew Super Bowl Sunday would be a long day–so she did nap (good call!) and so did I, so we all bundled up and headed across town for the party in decent moods.

Parties at our doctor friend’s house are always fun.  The food is great, the company is fantastic–but best of all, they have three girls and hence, a basement that looks like an upscale daycare. There also happens to be an in-home theater in the basement which is perfect for those who can actually sit and watch the game as opposed to having to micromanage children.  One of the benefits of being in this condition is that if none of the recliners were free, one was quickly offered to me as I casually waddled by, looking as nimble as if I was attempting to walk while holding a bowling ball between my thighs.  I admit, I said yes every time.

As I was catching up with friends I only see a few times a year, who did I see out the corner of my eye, but the doctor who will be fixing my two pregnancy induced hernias (one umbilical and one inguinal) during my c-section.  Panic. The one time I had met this woman I was wearing a stylish white medical gown and not much else.  I wasn’t sure if I should say hello or not.  What exactly is the etiquette? I probably would have tried to get away with a smile and a nod (for her sake more than mine–I mean, I couldn’t think of a single shred of small talk that didn’t involve my hernias).   I figured that while ordinarily she might not recognize new patients outside of the office, I had almost fainted during my appointment with her–thus perhaps making me a little harder to forget.

Anyway, the doctor and I ended up chatting a bit. She’s friendly and easy to talk to and she asked how I was feeling.  As were leaving, our two year old pitched a major fit and had to be carried out as she thrashed and shrieked. “This is why I have two hernias!” I called to the doctor as we were leaving.  She laughed and said she wasn’t surprised.   As we loudly and ungracefully made our exit, I asked my husband “So, who won?”