Just give her two fingers

Back in the day, which was a Tuesday, I had an appointment with the OB/Gyn. The blood pressure was up. I was wearing shoeboxes instead of shoes. I'd spent the last four weeks on the recliner drinking Deer Park and watching episodes of Judge Judy and A Baby Story.

Fun fact: Some specula could be mistaken for hole punchers. Keep one handy at your work desk, and you can use it to create handy storage space in your vagina! All the more room for stolen office supplies!

My health wasn't great, but the twins were "handling things better than your doctor," said Dr. O'Awesome.
Adorable PHubby took off work from his new job to take me to the appointment because, well, he was worried and I couldn't drive.

It had been a while since anyone at the office had checked out my nether regions. (I could just barely get to them in the shower using on old reach-around technique and a washcloth on a broom handle.)

Today was the day, though. Dr. O'Awesome wanted to know how I was ripening (nice visual for you, you're welcome.)

We chatted for a bit about the pregnancy and Dr. O'Awesome made some funny jokes and HAHAHA, we'll just do a little exam to see how things are going.

Dr. O'Awesome and Nurse Pleasant went down to the end of the room, beyond the mountain ranges of Tits, Tummy and Knees, respectively, and disappeared behind the sheet.

And "HAHAHA, we'll just do a little exam ..." turned out to be "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. SATAN IS VIOLATING MY BIRTH CANAL WITH CLAWS MADE OF FIRE AND SANDPAPER."

From the other side of the mountains, we heard, "Yeah. This isn't going to be a comfortable exam. Just hang in there and we'll get ya taken care of. Try to relax, if you can."

"OK," I said, as tears filled my eyes and I suffered through the pain, wondering when the last time I saw that area was and in what month I last shaved my thighs.

PHubby, ever gentle and caring, held my hand and stayed quiet and calm, even though I knew he was concerned.

The room fell silent.

Finally, Dr. O'Awesome, from behind the sheet, where he was soldering my vagina with some sort of demon speculum, and measuring my cervix with garden shears, spoke, this time addressing my husband.

He said, "Now. You never want to give her more than two fingers."

*pause*

*pause*

*pause*

*uncomfortably long pause during which PHubby and I both try to act really mature about the sex advice we were not at all expecting from a doctor, five weeks before the expected birth of our first children.*

Eventually, PHubby spoke. In a dry, cracked voice, he croaked, "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," came the response from beyond the sheet wall.

*pause*

*pause*

No one knew how to process this advice. First of all, I was wondering why, if the doctor could use demon speculum to crank me open as wide as the Amazon, I couldn't accept more than two fingers from my husband.

PHubby, I'm pretty sure, was afraid to ask what would happen if I did.

*pause*

The doctor finished the exam, snapped off the gloves and tossed them in the biowaste bin. He rolled forward on his stool until he was next to PHubby, put out his hand, palm up and said:

"If you give her your whole hand to hold during labor, and she squeezes it during a big contraction, she could break bones. Never give her more than two fingers."

Pretty sure he knew how confused we had been, but in case he hadn't, we tipped our hand with our simultaneous "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" and vigorous head nods.

The next day, we became parents.

EDITED TO ADD: The twins were five weeks early. I can see how the timing thing could be confusing.