The Suffering

You know how people ask, "how are you?" and in no way actually mean it. I'm mean who do you know that actually wants to hear about the creepy guy on the bus who smelled like mildew, or how you had a hard time deciding between a hot dog or a bagel for lunch. But when you're pregnant people say it like they actually want to know if your hemorrhoids have kicked in yet. The conversation goes something like this:

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing."

"Yes, but how do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Is everything okay?"

(At this point I begin to wonder if I wandered into the doctor's office and start looking nervously for the urine specimen cup.)

I should just save time and trouble by printing out a sheet of basic health stats and pin it to my shirt. Body temperature: 94.5 F Number of bowel movements: 2 Tenderness of breasts: def con 4... Look people I feel fine. I am over those two weeks of morning sickness and I am not yet fat as a whale. Ask me again when I am wearing a mumu and eating ice cream from a pint stationed directly atop my baby hump.

Actually to be completely honest I am in pain, but it's totally baby unrelated. I have a tooth, a special freak tooth, that has finally made up its mind to join the world at the ripe age of 27. The old tooth is having nothing of it and I'm left with searing headaches and kicked in the mouth by a donkey pain. The dentists are of course optimistic at my pain tolerance and are willing to pull the tooth after the baby comes out- when my dental dries up. I lasted a week when my wisdom teeth came in, and I was drinking heavily and self medicating with goodies pilfered from the nursing home. I am no wuss. I went a month with a fractured collar bone and torn rotator cuff, carrying a hundred pounds of vinyl to and from work, toting home groceries on foot, and other wise being oblivious to the fact that when you can't raise your right arm you should probably go see a doctor. I have dreams about getting in fights with the spandex clad patrons demanding Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back on 80's night. I pull some nasty crimped hair. They punch out the offending tooth, and we all make friends over a little P Diddy. Does anyone have a home dental care hand book they could lend me?