Nudity and Cell Phone Addictions

Know what I love?

My butt cheeks on a thin sheet of tissue paper atop a table.

Not really.

But there I sat for probably 10 to 15 minutes this morning.

Waiting.

There should really be a color code or something for the exam rooms where someone is waiting at least partially nude. Those should get priority. I don’t care what time your appointment was for, my modesty is currently being guarded on all sides by flimsy, white paper. If there were a fire right now, I would have a very serious decision to make. That gets dibs on the doctor’s time. 

I think.

And I, of course, left my phone in my coat pocket across the room. Because what was I – pocket-less – going to do with it when the doctor came in? After a few minutes, though, I stopped caring about what I would do with it if/when the doctor came in. I was bored.

Every time I flinched to get it, though, I pictured him finally walking in just as I was in front of the door, hunched over like Gollum after his precious, holding a giant Kleenex around my waist. I couldn’t do it. I just sat there and tried to pretend nothing awkward was happening, and that I could read the poster (in Spanish) on the wall across from me.

He did show up, and we took cell samples today to make sure there isn’t an excess of blah blah blah. Turns out the inside of your cheek isn’t the only place you can swab cells from. They don’t tell you that in high school biology.

Measured my bump. Listened to a little wishy washy heartbeat, and told me I’m in, now, every week until I deliver!