In the final stretches of this pregnancy, there is simply nothing left for me to do but lie awake at 3 a.m. re-writing the rap songs that are stuck in my head, transforming them into pregnancy anthems. For example:
To the tune of "Thrift Shop":
Ba-da, ba-baby, ba-baby, ba-baby, ba-baby...
Eight o'clock's my time to crash,
and I got plenty tissue in my pocket
I-I'm hormonal, looking for a toilet
This is freaking awesome.
That last line would be absolutely dripping with sarcasm. Obvi.
I kind of want to make a sweet youtube video of super-pregnant me dancing around a thrift shop and then rushing to vomit in one of the nastiest bathrooms on the planet (have you ever been in a thrift store bathroom? They rival Middle Eastern gas stations, in terms of nastiness.) But the problem is, I have no video-making skills whatsoever, I'm not sure how to get a karaoke version of "Thrift Shop," I can't really sing, I definitely can't rap, I have no video camera or editing software, I'm kind of self-conscious about appearing in public on film, and also--this is the critical point--I don't really want to get up.
In spite of all these obstacles, I am still managing to pass a pretty good amount of time daydreaming about how amazingly awesome this youtube video would be, and how it would definitely go viral and then I would make a million dollars off of ad revenue. Also, I would get to appear on The Ellen Degeneres Show. (I love her.)
In other news, I had yet another ob/gyn appointment today, during which...wait. You may not want to know this part. We may not be close enough friends for you to handle the information I am about to share here, on the Internet...which is forever. Feel free to navigate away from this page now, and go google something else to keep you entertained. I recommend "Thrift Shop."
Okay, today at my ob/gyn appointment, the doctor swabbed my butt with a q-tip.
That's right, folks. Around this time in pregnancy, the Strep B culture happens. Which sounds like it's going to be fine, because Strep usually involves your throat. You might read about how you'll have to get this test and be all, "Oh, Strep! I got tested for that before! The doctor swabbed my tonsils and I gagged a little."
Ha-ha! As if anything about pregnancy were that easy. No, kids, when you get to 36 weeks of pregnancy, and the doctor explains she is going to check you for Strep B, that means you have to take off your pants.
My theory is that, at 36 weeks, you're so close to labor that the doctor is trying to prepare you for this fact: In a short amount of time, you will poop in full view of a small crowd of strangers. Pregnant women of the world, be warned! There is simply no way you are going to push out an eight-pound human without pushing out a few other things as well.
This wouldn't be so bad if you never, ever had to see any of those people in the delivery room ever again. You could, perhaps, then convince yourself that it never happened. That it was all a bad dream, or a hallucination brought on in your 24th hour of labor.
But unfortunately, this is going to happen in front of the Husband, whom you will see almost every day for the rest of your life. A few weeks ago, I worked up the courage to ask him whether that had really happened...the pooping. Right in front of him. On the table. Yep, he said.
So there goes my chance of convincing my husband that I'm like one of those girls out of the J. Crew catalogue, or maybe a ballerina of some sort... you know, the girls who like, never poop. This was pretty much my main goal over the first five years of our relationship.
And now, I've admitted it to the entire Internet.
Oh well. At least my blog is not even remotely popular. I'll comfort myself with that.