(Warning, all ye who enter here - mention of lady doctor appointments & ladybits ahoy!)
A pregnant lady's faith in her obstetrician (or midwife, doula, shaman, fairy - whatever your health practitioner of choice) is not unlike a child's belief in Santa Claus - you know that he or she is likely the one magically delivering the goods and pray fervently that he'll deliver as promised on the appropriate date.
With this faith & prayer comes the third part of the holy Gestating Trinity, the desperate hope that your Dr. Claus has All The Answers. To, you know, everything related to that glorious life you're growing within you blah blah blah, but also in that Mr. Rogers-y sense of being generally comforting and omniscient about the universe and life etc.
While in the midst of my first weekly appointment yesterday - *Allow me to pause & inform the non-P Word crowd that those are the, ahem, rigorous examinations done in the last month of one's pregnancy in which your OB gets more fresh with you than your enthusiastic Prom date attempted junior year - I happened upon this theory. My personal Dr. Claus, preternaturally cheerful to the point of nearly being irritating, looked up from the examination table and beamed beatifically at me while proclaiming ...
"What an adequate, very proper pelvis you have!"
You can imagine my delight, of course, upon hearing those magical words - it must be that proper pelvis of mine that keeps me honest about the flossing and the thank-you note writing! Perhaps those scofflaws like Miss Lohan wouldn't have those pesky legal troubles if only their ladybits had decent decorum!
Naturally I had to share this felicitous news, so after thanking Dr. Claus profusely (properly!) and throwing myself together , I sped to the Trophy Wife Wagon and shared his expert opinion with the Anonymous Husband.
Wouldn't you know it - the AH barked out a laugh, paused a beat, and then inquired in all seriousness, "Sure, but isn't that just code for childbearing hips?"
Please don't be alarmed - rather than being disappointed with the AH's analysis, I giggled and felt a sense of relief. After all, if I've had to dress around these hips of mine for some thirty(-two) years, at least I now have the comfort of knowing they serve the greater purpose of entree into the Junior League and other, ahem, proper institutions (if also the labor & delivery ward).