I had an OB appointment today with The Cute Doctor. He’s my least favorite, because he’s too handsome for me to want to let him see my jiggly tummy. Also he’s my least favorite because he’s so clearly aware of his handsomeness. You can tell he’s used to pregnant women blushing and getting crushes on him. He has green eyes, and I notice he often wears green shirts.

I suspect him, too, of thinking of himself as “good with women.” Like, he’s explaining to me all the tests and screens I can have done, and I can almost see him thinking about how awesome he is for explaining all this just as if I’m his intellectual equal.

And this is the worst part. When he was done explaining, and he wanted to check for the baby’s heartbeat, I had to pull down the top of my pants–and my tummy, the aforementioned jiggly one I don’t want him to see, was all damp with sweat, and he prodded it a few times before putting on the gel, so I couldn’t even pretend the dampness was from the gel.

The OB offices are always SO HOT. They feel like they’re about 80 degrees, and then the little exam room door is closed so the air is stuffy. And then there’s a cute doctor talking to me, and I’m socially inept so I’m just barely grasping each “next appropriate thing to say” in time to say it, and whenever I talk to people I tend to get overheated and damp with nervousness, and also we’re talking about things that could be wrong with the baby, and all those things together make me a little sweaty. Which was bad enough when I was just painfully aware that my face was red and my forehead wet, but way way worse when I realized it was the jiggly loose much-stretchmarked skin of my stomach that was clammy, and there’s his hand coming towards it in prodding position. God.