I went for my midwife appointment the other day filled to the brim with questions. Questions spurred mostly by strangers on the internet. I belong to a message board for mothers expecting a baby in July, and they are women busily preparing for their new addition. Me? Not so much. I have painted nothing. I have one little blue dress hanging in a sort-of-cleaned-out closet. And the other day I was standing in the room that was to house the child and I thought, “Eh, why move our collection of glass, poison and knives? I mean, it’s not like she will get into them for a while yet. Fa la la!” Then I skipped off to otherwise amuse myself.

However, after reading message boards, I always get the fired inspiration to Nest. Or at least, to Prepare. So I read about birth plans and natural child birth and all manner of birth things. I went in armed with a list of essential things to discuss with the medical establishment. As my midwife walked in, I opened my mouth. And it just sort of hung open like that.

My midwife, a woman of many years experience and education, was wearing knee high boots, fishnet stockings, a mini skirt and tight sweater with plunging neckline. I just sort of stared at her while she checked the baby’s heartbeat and said something about blood pressure. At the end she cheerily asked, “Any questions?” But I couldn’t stop staring at her legs. “She must work out,” I thought. She, taking my silence as assurance, said, “Okay, Well, we’ll see you in four weeks!” I nodded, still staring at those fishnets.

And, I must admit, I’m not really taken aback by clothing. Or the fact that the woman who will is responsible for the health of my first born wears them. After I thought about it, back in my house of poison and sharp objects, I believe this woman is strangely fitting for me. After all, we are decorating with sea creatures. So who am I to judge the nautical proclivities of another?