Go home, have sex, and call me in the morning

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

37 weeks, 2 days pregnant
Just returned from a very uneventful 37-week OB-GYN appointment. I had been hoping the good doctor would finally decide to take a look at my vagina (and cervix and all that business).
Sorry. Hormones.
I don’t understand it. I haven’t had a pap test since a few months before getting pregnant, so this is the longest I’ve went — in my adult life — without having my hoo-ha looked at. And I’m FREAKING PREGNANT. Wouldn’t you think that would mean MORE looking, not LESS?
I had been hoping for an internal exam, so that I would know if my cervix is softened or flattened or whatever else it’s supposed to be. But nope. The nurse said Dr. L would do an internal exam next week, so I guess I just need to wait.
ME: Mom, seriously — why aren’t they looking? What if I’m not even pregnant?
MOM: Uh … if you’re not pregnant, then this must be an Alien sequel.
So what else is new, besides my crabbiness at my doctor’s RELUCTANCE to make me take off my pants?
  • Pee: Fine. No protein, no sugar.
  • Weight: Up one pound. I blame the two desserts.
  • Blood pressure: 126 over 78
  • Baby’s heartbeat: Loud and clear
  • Baby’s position: Still head down (“waaaay down”)
  • Fundal height: 38.5 cm (one-and-a-half weeks ahead!)
When I got to chat with Dr. L, I espressed my, ah, desire to have this baby, like, yesterday. Her prescription? SEX! She said it doesn’t work for everyone, because then no one would ever be overdue, but it’s the best thing you can try to speed things up.
Sex? Yeah, that is totally what I feel like doing, in this hot weather with this ginormous, uncomfortable nine-months-pregnant body. But I will. I totally will. I will become a NYMPHO if it means this baby will come out sooner rather than later.
Pray that I don’t crush dear Darling Husband!

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