Since Going to the GYN Isn't Fun Enough, I've Decided to Up the Thrill Factor by Adding a Screaming Toddler to the Mix. Awesome!

I finally got my eyebrows done today. VICTORY!!! I've only been trying to get there since Christmas.

Such is the story of my life.

Bonnie went with me, of course, constant companions that we are. She's a pretty chill baby so I figured no bigs, we'll be in and out before she inhales too much of the chemically stuff they use for the lucky women who have the leisure time available for a mani-pedi.

Good LORD, how wrong was I???

Bon screamed -- SCREAMED -- the whole 10 minutes it took to weedwhack my overgrown manbrows. You'd think Bonnie was the one getting waxed with the way she carried on. The ruckus totally unnerved the tiny little bird of a woman so much that she took a chunk out of the main portion of my right eyebrow. Awesome.

Getting up from the table, I noticed a sign that said "Cash only for eyebrows." Again, AWESOME. I only had $5 on me. The woman seemed used to this turn of events and suggested I go to the pharmacy next door to get cash.

As the tear-streaked Bonnie and I left the waxing room, I noticed one of the moms from Natalie's class getting a mani-pedi. She said, "Oh hi! I wondered who was screaming like that. Poor Bonnie."

At this point, I was feeling like I should be playing the lead role in Bridget Jones: The Mothering Years. I've got all the qualifications except the accent.

ATM was hit, Bon was mollified with Gerber Puffs and all was right with the world again. Until tomorrow.

Tomorrow is my annual appointment with the GYN. Bonnie is joining me. Of course.

If today's experience was any indication, there will be lots of screaming. And tension. And clenching. This does not bode well for a smooth pelvic exam.

"Mrs. Tobin, I know that it's hard to breathe when you are listening to your child wail like the demons of hell are attacking her but could you maybe take a few deep breaths and unclench your muscles? Okay, maybe a few more deep breaths? No? Not working? Okay, now you are hyperventilating..."

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she'll be fine.

Maybe it will be smoother than the time I had blood drawn while wearing shrieking Natalie in the Bjorn and thumb wrestling 2 year old Jack.

Maybe it will be easier than the time I laid on the exam table and sang Feliz Navidad over and over to distract Nat and Jack while I miscarried baby #3 in the ultrasound facility.

Maybe...