An Open Letter to my OB

Dear Dr. Carter -

One of the many reasons I asked you to be my OB/GYN is because of the word of mouth reputation you've developed among your patients. Many of whom are friends of mine. These are women I trust, whose opinions I value, and whose children you've delivered and now play with with my own.

For the last nine months you've taken good care of me and the twin girls I am carrying. You've been honest, caring, and thorough in your approach. You've treated me with respect and a sense of humor, and have always taken the time to answer my questions with honesty and candor. And you've put up with my myriad of pregnancy questions and neurosis. Also commendable.

Now that we've reached the end of the pregnancy I need to appeal to you. As a father, husband, and as a physician.

For the love of God and all things holy get these babies out of me. NOW (please).

I can't do this anymore. I am sick of going to the bathroom 40 times a day. I am not exaggerating, and if you don't believe me you can check the grocery bill. Seriously, the only people making money in this economy are the people who hold stock in Charmin and Cotonelle. I am dropping small fortune every week on toilet paper. My office is going make me write it into my budget at the rate we're going. And while we're on the subject of the bathroom, I would like to remind you (again) of how much I long for the days when I could go to the store (any store) and do my shopping without have to stop and go to the bathroom multiple times. Not exactly a pleasant experience for someone who despises public restrooms to begin with.

And have I mentioned that we live in Arizona where it's been 100+ degrees for weeks? Because there is nothing more fun (re. miserable) than being pregnant with twins in Arizona in the summer.

About four months ago I told you that I would like to sleep through the night at least once before the babies come. At the time, you laughed and sympathized with me. But right now I don't need humor and sympathy. I need these babies OUT. Between getting up 2-3 times a night to go to the bathroom (please see above) and the carpal tunnel syndrome that causes my hands to tingle and wake me up, I am exhausted. And did I mentioned that I need a forklift to get out of bed in the first place because my stomach has gotten so big?

I can't walk without waddling. My feet are swollen to the point where all I can wear are flip flips (thank you CROCS) and I am starting to outgrow my maternity clothes. That reality has done NOTHING for my self-esteem, by the way. If it weren't for the maternity stretch pants I ordered at the GAP (the greatest pants EVER) I would be walking around half naked right now. And that would not be a pretty sight. I even scored a gift card at Islands after being humiliated over the fact that I can longer fit behind one of their tables. I ache everywhere. And the "non-stress tests" that have been ordered twice a week are starting to become more stress than they are worth. Seriously. You have no idea how much I appreciate your thoroughness, but is 3.5 hours at the hospital without a drink or snack really what you had in mind?

All of this said, when I come to your office tomorrow (August 11, 2008 at 3:30) I implore you to strip, break, induce, rupture, and/or futz with something that will ultimately enable these babies to make their eagerly anticipated entrance into the world. Sooner rather than later would be most appreciated. And by sooner I mean within the next 24-48 hours. The babies are ready. And I'm BEYOND ready.

If you don't believe me, ask yourself this. Would a rational woman would write a manifesto her to obstetrician and put it on the internet?

Most sincerely,

Toby