a list of things that hit my G-spot:

sourdough toast
garlic and feta grits
taking my bra off
fudgesicles
Äpfels (but I have to say it in German)
when my kid isn't doing this in utero...(double fist bump to the chest and kissing a peace sign to Gregory Hines)
lingonberry juice with Ikea ice
the thought of someday sleeping on my stomach again
the thought of someday sleeping again
Tums, even though they're disgusting
strawberry milkshakes
and did I mention the sourdough toast with the toast that is made of sourdough that is toasted?

But the biggest hit of all? Being able to pee.

In college, I remember hearing the legend of a Delta Chi who only pooped once a week, had to do it in complete darkness, and carried out the task while perched over the toilet, not unlike a sparrow, flapped wings and all.

Emptying my bladder has taken on a similar rite. Except I'm a flightless, knock-kneed bird whose legs protrude at a 90 degree angle from my hips, while I lean as far forward as possible, with arms jutting straight back for balance. And even then? Dribble. Dribble. Drib. Ble. With performances on an every-fifteen-minutes rotation.

So fully decanting my tank is the ultimate when it comes to hitting my Gestational spot.