On the Power of Suggestion and Comfortable Shoes

So if you are reading this (and you are) you probably know by now that I am pregnant. And if I have been less than attentive to this blog in the past several months, it is because I haven't wanted to talk about being pregnant. And while the topic is paramount inside my own mind, I don't want to count down the days (95 to be exact), I don't want to talk about how cute I look (I don't), and I don't want to answer the question "So, is this it?" (I don't know.)

But if you construe this as negative, it is really not. I am thrilled to be welcoming another child into this household. I recognize that God has bestowed a tremendous gift on our family and I am a gracious and willing recipient. I am confident that I have a strong and healthy body that will accomodate our desire to bring children into this world - that is, until someone suggests that I can't - and then it all falls to pieces.

You see, my confidence in my abilities rests almost exclusively in the hands of those around me. I am a sucker for a spontaneous compliment, however, the seed of doubt proves to be a formidable opponent for me. So, I do my best to keep the doubters at bay by making sure I look presentable when I go out - you know, brush my teeth, wipe the makeup off from underneath my eyes, put on nice shoes. That way, the doubters won't be tempted to doubt. They'll think, "She can do this!" And then, so will I.

So last week I had an appointment at the birth-control pusher Ob/Gyn's office and found myself without a babysitter and needing to bring all 4 children to my prenatal appointment. This would be the lion's den of discomfort for me: six-months pregnant, trying to keep 4 small children quiet in a place of business, and having a visual stare-off with the Doctor when I try to answer her with confidence, "No. I don't plan on tying my tubes at the end of this pregnancy." I decided to head it off before it could start - I dressed everyone up in their Sunday best, put on my cutest sundress and donned my 4-inch espadrille wedges. Nobody better dare say anything negative to me: we look fabulous.

I was feeling tentatively confident by the time that they called my name to be seen. The nurse walked me and my ducklings back to the scale to face facts. She read me the number and the net increase over the past month. The kids were quiet, my backbone strengthening, and then she said it, "Well, you're doing great girl. And with all these kids - I can't believe you're still walking around in tall ol' shoes." I looked down at my feet, slowly sinking into drying concrete, and had the sensation that I couldn't take one more step. Her mere suggestion that my shoes looked uncomfortable struck me lame in the middle of the hallway leading to the examination room. I realized that I needed to get ahold of myself and hobbled on to finish the appointment.

Upon driving home, I had to give myself a reality check. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, way down deep, in the places that are available to only me - I truly believe that I am a worthy and able candidate for the job that I have undertaken. Who cares if the clerk in the grocery store shakes her head when my 2-year old won't stop crying in line? WE are happy - and I have to believe that God is happy, too. And that is really what matters, right? But, if I did take anything away from my little crisis, I realized the nurse was right: My life is better when I wear comfortable shoes.