It seems these days that some things aren't coming out of some people that should be and some things are coming out of other people that shouldn't.

For those of you that were concerned, the little angel both joined Toddler High full-time yesterday (farewell, Waddler B) and pooped TWICE.  Rock on.  You've got to love a daycare that, when you tell them your child is constipated, puts little smiley faces next to the circled letters "BM."  Ah, parenthood.

So anyway, I've got my own problems.  I called my OB-GYN yesterday to tell them about an unexpected event that happened a week early.  It sort of happened last month, too. I've suspected for a while that my birth control pills really don't work, but I'm loathe to change them because I hate the side effects of a new Pill.  The bloatedness, the tiredness - any little hormonal change wreaks major havoc on me, and I'm too damn busy to deal with it. I know - how irresponsible, especially considering that I don't want any more children.  So anyway, I wasn't too concerned about the whole thing until I mentioned this to two of my girlfriends/co-workers during a discussion of B's allergic reaction to Gain Hawaii Scent or something like that.  They thought I should call my doctor.  This was not really the "hell's bells, everything's normal" reaction I was hoping for.

I called my doctor.  The nurse called me back, told me nothing, then called me back again.

Nurse: (not Nurse Ratched - she works for the Judgmental Pediatrician, whom I fired last year) "The doctor wants you to call back when you're on your first day on the sugar pills and schedule a sonogram."

Me:  "A sonogram?  Why?  I'm not pregnant."

Nurse:  "He wants to look at your uterus." (implied:  You dumbass.)

Me:  "I understand.  Why does he want to look at my uterus?"

Nurse:  "Because you've been on the birth control pill for eighteen years without break-throughs, and because of your age."

Me:  "My age?  Am I old or young?"

She laughed.  I was genuinely confused.  I'm thirty-two.  I know they consider anyone over thirty to be "old" and anyone over thirty-five to be "ancient" in the OB's world, but in my head, I am still a pretty young thang of eighteen. 

The knowledge that "because of your age" might mean "because you are old and your ovaries may very well be drying up like raisins" was a little daunting and put a check on an otherwise sunny day.

I called my mother to see how old she was when she had HER uterus REMOVED. 

Ma:  "Why are you asking?"

Me: "Because I'm older than you were when you were done having children."

Ma:  "No, you're not. I was like THIRTY-TWO when I had your sister."

Me:  "MA, I'M THIRTY-TWO."

Ma:  "You are?"

Ugh.

So am I young or old?  And what is wrong with my uterus?  And do I care? Gah.