I consider myself a modest person. I do not dress provocatively, over share too much, and generally make sure that I consider about what my grandmothers would think before I say or do something.

However, after going through the trials of being a pregnant woman, much modesty goes out the window.

The other day there was some concern I was leaking amniotic fluid (no worries, I was not), so my OB sent met me to the hospital to get checked. First of all, I am convinced that unless you are actively producing a baby (as in the baby’s head is crowning), you can just about forget being seen in any sort of timely manner.

So after going through two different check-in desks, we finally got to the labor and delivery triage area. In these deluxe accommodations, you and your partner cram together in a small, curtained-off area while you, the pregnant lady, disrobe and done a rather flimsy “gown” that barely goes around your stomach, is open in the back, and is super short. Then some nurse comes in and straps two different monitors around your belly, and you get to lie there mostly undressed for several hours until some doctor appears to check out the condition of your cervix.

And we waited and waited and waited. And Dan did an awesome job of attempting to corral a doctor or resident or intern or whoever to check out my cervix. Meanwhile, you lay there pretty much naked hooked up to a beeping machine that monitors the baby’s heart rate and contractions. Finally some nurse came in to ask me about 10394 questions, rearrange my monitors, and again left me half naked and still hoping someone, anyone would check on my cervix so we could be on our way.

This is where one looses all interests in being modest. I mean, come on, probably more than half of the triage people have seen me at least half naked, especially when I had to hobble my way to the bathroom and attempt to keep the back of the stupid gown closed.

And after waiting around for about as long as I have been pregnant, I was about ready to have anyone, anyone check my cervix. Hey, was that a janitor who walked by? Grab him and have him check! I am sure he was learned all about cervixes and amniotic fluid via osmosis.

Anyway, after making it this far in pregnancy, all modesty is out the window. Nurses and doctors get all fresh with you and that is just fine because someone has to check on the baby somehow. And you get real used to tossing out words like cervix and dilation and effacement and mucus plug and amniotic fluid and placenta and birth canal in every day conversation. Dan and I have eaten dinner while discussing the State of the Uterus.

Modesty? Whatever. I am not the only cervix these doctors and nurses have seen today. So thank you kind OB, nurse, and random OB resident who also watched the cervix procedure, I am reassured that the State of the Uterus is just fine.

Finally, the AKC recently decided to recognize Belle’s breed. Now, Blue Tick Coonhounds can compete along with their cohorts in the hound division.

I really want Belle to enter the competition. She fits nicely within the parameters for measurements and weight, plus, she is the most beautiful Blue Tick Coonhound I have ever seen (granted, I have never seen another face-to-face). If the AKC opened an event to showcase talent, she would definitely win since she is awesome at: 1) eating paper; 2) sleeping on couches; and 3) barking at any uniformed mail or package delivery person.

I mean, look at that face. She is definitely a winner.

It’s finished and awaiting its new occupant:

And it’s Monday again. Comes way to fast. Is it a bad sign I am already counting down the hours until Friday?

-To say I am uncomfortable would be an understatement. I cannot sleep. My back hurts. I am about ready to send an eviction notice to this baby that her days in utero are numbered.

-This weekend Belle ripped and ate part of Dan’s socks. The remains of said socks are beginning to reappear.

-It is so nasty humid outside. Nasty. This is not good news because it makes my hair look weird and increases my body temperature from an already uncomfortably warm to so hot I could vomit.

-I am running out of things to organize. Yesterday I reorganized my entire pantry. I have a linen closet in dire straights, so that will be next. But after that, I am not sure what else I can get my hooks into.

-Did I mention I cannot sleep?

The closer I get to the delivery date, the crazier I become. I decide to do stuff like clean my entire house, buy random assortments of stuff at Wal Mart, move items around my home just because, and use my lunch time go shop at Home Depot for spray paint.

Why? Because I decided to spray paint the baby’s rocking chair. Why? Because otherwise it did not really go with the room. And, more to the point, why not?

Why does a 37-week pregnant woman do anything? I am not sure. My guess is something to do with the massive amounts of hormones raging through my body and giving my superpowers.

Really, superpowers. Just a few days ago, I was so achingly tired I just wanted to sleep sleep sleep. And now I am totally wired for sound. WIRED. ENERGY. SO MUCH HORMONAL FUEL.

This stuff is like crack. If I could bottle my emotions and sell them, I would be rich and pay people to spray paint my rocking chair. But whatever, I did it. More importantly, I did it while Dan was out of town because he attempted to forbid me to do stuff like spray paint (no worries, I wore a mask), stand on chairs, lift heavy stuff. Pshhttt. He was not here to stop me, so therefore, I do whatever I want. Whatever, I have this superpower thing going, gives me extra strength.

This baby has to be one her way. There is just no other excuse for the craziness. Yesterday I cleaned my entire house like I ever never cleaned before. Dustbusting and washing and vacuuming and scrubbing. Every. Single. Surface. Well, I just cannot bring a new baby into a dirty house.

And then I decided I needed to go to Wal Mart. You know, for just the essentials. We needed pacifiers and maybe a pacifier holder and a bottle drying rack and a pack of 0-3 month t-shirts and travel-sized hygiene products for me while at the hospital. Oh yeah, and a new bedspread because…because why not?

This is getting out of hand. She better show up soon. Otherwise I will spend every waking minute scrubbing my floors and the rest of the time walking the aisles of Wal Mart.

This coming weekend Dan is co-hosting a bachelor party for our friend, Jon, who is getting married in two weeks. While Dan has an excellent weekend planned full of beer drinking and manly stuff, I am trying to persuade him that I have a much better idea for the bachelor party. Sort of like an alternative bachelor party. A little something I would like to call Marriage Training.

So, instead of the beer and manly activities party, I think a much better alterative would feature the friend’s wife (that would be me) instructing the soon-to-be husband and his cohorts on all things matrimony.

To start things off in the morning, all of the boys would come over to my house for a debriefing. You see, I use the weekend breakfast table to lay out the Weekend Plan of Attack with Dan. Similarly, I would go over all the activities that need to be accomplished this weekend, especially with the imminent arrival of the baby.

For example, I need a couple more things assembled. The boys need to tackle putting together a Pack N’ Play, bouncy seat, and swing. Also, I have two types of car seats, and I need those both installed in the cars.

And after that, I am ready to launch my Laundry Room Redo project. So, they need to haul out the washer, dryer, and utility sink, lay down the flooring of my choice, repair the drywall, paint, and put back the washer, dryer, and install a new utility sink. Also, they need to hang some sort of shelving system and wire so I can hang the clothes to dry.

Phew, by this time, it is probably getting close to lunch. I get hungry coordinating all these activities. So, I would like them to make me a grilled cheese. Oh, and pour me a diet Sprite. What? No diet Sprite? It’s okay, I will wait here while one of you runs to the store to get it. And the rest of you can sit at the table with me, so we can talk about my feelings and whatever else I want to talk about.

Okay, so now I need half of them to finish up the laundry room project, one to mow the lawn, one to weed, and the rest to help me fold and hang the cute baby clothes. Extra points for talking up just how deliciously adorable all her little clothes are going to look on her.

Now, I need some men to research what items need to go in the hospital bag and help me gather such items. And it would probably be good if we made a test trip to the hospital.

So now I am getting hungry for dinner. I will come up with something that sounds good, and you all can make it for me. And after dinner I really am going to need a backrub because today was a lot of work.

Clearly, helping out with this alternative bachelor party will be hard work for me, but I really think it will much more useful and instructive than beer pong. I mean, the boys are already good at that stuff (I know because I knew them back in our college days). But what they could really use some schooling on is how to be a husband. They are all awesome boys with much potential, so it would be an honor to teach them the ways of Marital Bliss. Their future wives will thank me.

Now I am 37 weeks and of course attending weekly OB appointments like it’s my job. And now instead of just making me pee in a cup and taking my weight and blood pressure, the OB ladies are actually getting their hands on me.

So there I was, reading a celebrity gossip magazine and sporting a flimsy gown when in waltzes the OB, snaps on some gloves, and proceeds to give me an internal exam without so much as information foreplay. Whoa, could have warned a girl. I mean, how far up is my cervix? Really, that far up? I told her at this rate was she feeling the top of the baby’s head? Could she determine if the baby had hair?

Well, she did not find me too amusing, but she did report that I am 75 percent effaced and already one centimeter dilated, further along as this stage of the game than the norm. And that is just fabulous because I am getting ready to get off the pregnancy train. Bring on additional effacements to the dilation station.

So of course I go home and proceed to tell Dan and my entire immediate family about the State of the Uterus. And to be sure, they are all super interested in my cervix. I mean, who would not be?

Since we figured this could mean one of two things – she comes early or she comes late – we got a move on and finished assembling the remaining 384 baby items that vibrate, play songs, swing, or – get this – all three. And we also installed the car seat, which is a good thing because the directions made it seem like one needed a PhD in Baby Safety to get that thing secured.

And during the weekend, the State of the Uterus produced another potential pregnancy milestone in the passing of the mucus plug. Yes, it is as gross as it sounds. But, I was pretty glad because this act is one of the many, many, many things that could signal the beginnings of labor. And get this, it also could mean absolutely nothing or the baby is coming next week. Ugh, maternity medical knowledge is so useless. No one knows anything. Is she coming or is she staying? NO ONE KNOWS.

What is a girl to do? Go to Costco of course. I calmly informed Dan of the mucus plug but said in no way will that hamper my trip to Costco. I want that patio furniture, and I want it this weekend. Come mucus plug or water breaking.

I got my patio set, and I also got to work today, albeit, I am starting to feel uncomfortable. I called my doctor this morning regarding the plug and my back pain and general state of uncomfortableness in the hopes that she would prescribe “bed rest” meaning, “I do not have to go to work but I can stay home and proceed to do whatever I want including watch Oprah and busy myself with vacuuming.” But, no. She basically was unimpressed and said I am uncomfortable because I am 37 weeks pregnant and term. Well, duh!

So here I am. Plugless and uncomfortable. And apparently this is normal. Well, great. I am predicting these last couple of weeks is going to be hard. To speed things up, I am considering eating spicy food while swinging on a swing.