Where personal is all so very relative

You know, I've never been one to hold back on discussing, well, much of anything, really.

But I feel like pregnancy does so many icky things to you that you just have to be comfortable with, that my tolerance for this kind of thing has skyrocketed.

If you can imagine.

Jen and I had dinner with last Friday night.

It was so great to see her, and fantastic to catch up, although just slightly a far cry from the boozy, boy-spotting, who knows what might happen Cancun porn-watching outings of yore.

Conversations of wedding (yay!) and baby and pregnancy dominated.

Nick joined us as we were discussing - and I kid you not - my anus.

Because, you see, one of the things that nobody told me beforehand was this: All these down-there bits of you that typically live inside can get shoved outside. All the weight and pressure, it turns out, is hard on your bits.

And so while I haven't looked, because I can't really bear to, I know for a fact that it's not like it used to be. My OB, in fact, commented on it last week during the surprise! swab.

I asked if there was anything I could do for it, and he said, "Sure, but it won't help before he's born. And just wait till you deliver!"

Eeeeeeeeeeee!

And so I said to Jen, "Basically, as far as I can tell, much of my butthole is more on the outside than the inside."

And she said, "I've never paid any attention to my butthole."

To which I responded, "Yah, I never had before. But you realize something is different. And then it's more different. And one day you're all, hmm. What's going on with my anus?"

She was in the middle of saying something like, "I'll have to check it out. . ."

. . .when Nick interrupted. He leaned towards her and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

And I was all twitchy, wondering where this could be going, and Jen clearly was too, as she tilted her head, "Su-ure."

And he said, in his very polite Southern accent and manor: "I was wondering if you'd mind me asking how old you are?"