Naval-gazing eye doctor

I ran out of contacts several weeks ago, and when I called for a refill they said I had to come in for a new prescription. All the books say not to have your eyes examined during pregnancy because one of the 1,382 ways your body reacts to your precious parasite is to change the pressure in your eyes, so an exam during pregnancy is a waste of time and money.

After explaining all this to the doc's staff, and asking for just one more box of contacts to get me through pregnancy and after promising to come in with my 8-week-old and get an exam, I was met with a pregnant pause and then, "I'm sorry, no," followed by a long explanation of how state law requires a new prescription every so often and if they don't comply the police will come and take them to the crunchy granola Northwest prison for letter-of-the-law breakers.

I made an appointment because there's no way I'm going to wear only my glasses until after I give birth. I hate my appearance in glasses and if you saw my fourth-grade picture you'd know why. I think I've gotten rid of all evidence of how I looked in fourth grade, so Mom, take this as a challenge. If you find a school picture from that year, I'll post it here. I'd also want to post a cute-kid picture to balance all the cute Hunter photos – but finding one of those might be a challenge, too. I was an awkward child with crooked teeth, weird hair and a penchant for stick-on earrings.

(And Hunter's thinking, what's changed? Oh yeah, her ears are pierced now.)

Anyway, at my appointment I saw that my file had a big tag that said PREGNANT and then a note to let me come back in post-delivery for a checkup free of charge. I mentioned the pregnancy several times during the exam, and the doctor said the theory that pregnancy changes your vision was bogus.

My eye doctor is, well, a odd duck. He's a fine doctor but I'm glad I don't know him socially. He's one of those people who asks you questions because he's aware that it's the polite thing to do, but he doesn't really want to know the answer so he talks over you until you want to start answering him with your plans to rob banks and open your own pie shop. But every once in awhile he manages to listen for six seconds or so before going back to talking about the tanking real estate market and how his ex-wife stuck him with a condo he can't sell and before you know it you're bleeding from the ears.

I left with contacts that made my vision in one eye more blurry. When I went back two weeks later to get it checked out, we discussed the change in my prescription.

"Could this be related to the pregnancy?"

"You're pregnant?"

People, seriously. The flag on the chart and the localized weight gain apparently weren't enough context clues. I said, yes, in fact I am.

"What are you, like, three months?"

"No, five. How's the sale of your condo going?"

"How did you know I was selling my condo?"

The tag on his chart should read NEEDS THERAPY.