Mucous Plug? Or Bloody Show?

I begin this entry with a disclaimer that I know I am extremely
fortunate to be right on the verge of having a most likely healthy and
wonderful baby. Indeed, I am lucky. Please know that I know it, and forgive
the subsequent complaining. That said, the ninth month (or, as I am just
now entering it, the tenth month) of pregnancy is a virtual playground
of delights. Profuse sweating in strange, unmentionable places. Joint
pain in joints I normally never give a thought to. Irrational fears
about all kinds of things. Weird, unprecedented facial acne. Swollen
fingers. Grouchiness. When I read through this list, I realize I really don't
have it so bad. But it's funny that this magical time should be
dominated by me looking out for the sign of labor with two name options, both
of which are pretty gross. So I'm opening up the phones for a "Rename
the Bloody Show" contest- if you can think of a more pleasant and
auspicious name for the mucuos plug, I want to hear it.

The other interesting thing about being this pregnant is the weird
quality of becoming community property. People at work who normally never
speak to me, and often, in fact, completely random strangers will ask me
when I'm due and make other related comments to me. (Fortunately,
there has been no touching.) When my grouchiness is flaring up, I don't so
much like this. I know I am not super interesting on my own merits, but
now that I'm procreating, I'm good enough to chat with? When I am
feeling less grouchy, I know that's what lies beneath even the clumsy smart
ass comments ("Oh, that black dress is really slimming, ha ha!") is a
real excitement and joy at the prospect of a new life. People can't
seem to help themselves. So I hope I can focus on that part of it, and
less on the grouchy part of it. But really, I'm ready to just let the new
life out, to go back to being me, or at least, to having the baby on
the outside so that well-meaning strangers can speak directly to her
instead of me. Come on out, kiddo!