Mom-To-Be: My OB practice has five doctors. Before my last appointment, I'd met four of them, all women. And then I met the lone male doctor -- a tall, dark and handsome man with a spray tan, wearing a white lab coat. We'll call him "Dr. Perv."

Dr. Perv began our meeting by telling me that he'd wondered who the hottie in the hallway was. I smiled brightly. At eight-and-half-months pregnant, I'd take any compliment I could get. In the exam room, he asked me if I worked out, and how I managed to stay so thin. I felt almost like I'd been transported back in time to my Match.com dating days. Back then, though, those questions would have offended me, because a man should be commenting on my wit and my mind -- not on my body! But when Dr. Perv asked them, I happily answered and hoped he'd keep the compliments coming. When he suggested that I eat more, I almost gave him a hug. Almost.

We fell into an easy rhythm, bantering about this and that. I found myself hoping he'd be the doc on call when I delivered. He and I could really have some laughs! Now, even I have limits. Had he tried to touch me or fondle me in some way, I would have been upset. But it was just nice to get some male attention at a time when I feel so bloated and heavy and am sporting a bad case of cankles.

Maybe that's this doctor's shtick: He flirts with all the ladies to make them feel better. Well, he definitely made me feel better. I went home and immediately reported the news to my hubby. We laughed about the fact that, of course, on the first appointment my husband couldn't attend, I'd gotten Dr. Perv.

I guess everything happens for a reason.