I was going to write something about breastfeeding but I changed my mind after reading this post by Sharon at NYC Taught Me. Don't worry - I'll get to breastfeeding in a few weeks. In the mean time, today is about growing babies!

Or maybe it's more about pregnancy. I don't really feel like discussing twins this week, although I have been making some observations about how children learn to read. But I am not in a comparison mood. Or even a twin mood.

What's on my mind is pregnancy and how much it sucked. It's no secret that I was not a fan of pregnancy. I agree that growing a baby is a pretty awesome experience but it was no easy feat in my case, especially with two in there. So I think I might spend a few weeks sharing stories from my pregnancy and doing so in chronological order.

But they won't all be about how pregnancy sucked or how traumatic it was for me as a high risk case. That's what they called me - high risk. I think this first story is actually kind of funny and it makes to smile to think about how young and naive Stephen and I were at 25.

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When Stephen and I moved to Portland we were pretty much broke. Young and broke in the Big City. It was as romantic as it sounds. Just like in the movies. Really.

So after I missed my period and that little stick confirmed there was, in fact, a bun in my oven, I called Planned Parenthood to find a doctor offering services on a sliding scale. As luck would have it, there was a naturopathic doctor just down the street from our apartment!

On the evening of our appointment, Stephen and I arrived to find an empty and locked office. As we were standing around in the parking lot, wondering if we had the wrong location, a shirtless fellow on a bike screeched to stop beside us. And yep, he was the doctor.

He led us into the office, put on a shirt, and unsuccessfully tried to wipe away his sweaty BO stink. His practice was in an old home he had converted into an office. He asked me to pee in a cup, which he then placed, unmarked and without a lid, next to the kitchen sink, between some dirty dishes and a few empty beer bottles. It was very legitimate.

Next, he escorted us to the exam room were he unsuccessfully performed my first of many ultrasounds. Although he couldn't locate a heartbeat, he assured us that those at-home tests were pretty accurate. It was just too early in the process to attempt an ultrasound.

Of course, we made small talk throughout the entire visit and once the doctor learned that Stephen had just received a masters in creative writing, it no longer seemed to matter that we were there to confirm my pregnancy. Instead, the doctor just wanted to talk about his own attempts at creative writing and his recently self-published book of poems. He seriously spent 20 minutes talking to just Stephen about poetry - we were there for no more than 30.

Back in the reception area, he estimated that we conceived on the Fourth of July. He made an elaborate show with his whole body about the beauty of making a child under a sea of fireworks. Except we were scaling building tops in Southeast Portland with friends on the 4th. And we came home a little more than tipsy. No babies were made that night. Idiot.

He asked me to sway my arms back and forth in the air to further demonstrate the beauty of conception or some crap like that. And then he charged us fifty bucks, which was his full appointment price! A-hole!

The next morning I called the Oregon Health and Science University, which is where we eventually learned that we were expecting twins. But that's a whole other traumatic story. So I guess stay tuned for next week.

Four weeks pregnant in Oregon and looking good!

Does anyone else have a funny doctor story? Share it!