We have already established that I am not a fan of the being pregnant. Anyone who tells you it is so beautiful and so natural and it’s the spiritual and physical equivalent of having a unicorn land in your yard and poop glitter and rainbows is categorically full of shit.
It fucking sucks. You have to change your entire life, accept the fact that you’re about to get fat, accept the fact that you are about to lose your mind and become a crazy person for the next nine months, possibly the next nine years, and watch your entire life shift and change until the only thing remotely recognizable from your old life are the jeans that lay in the corner of your dirty bedroom, mocking you because they no longer fit and you just don’t know if they ever will again.
I suppose it isn’t all bad. There are a few perks. Such as:
My boobs. They are getting bigger and awesomer. I like to look at them in my bathroom mirror and make Playboy bunny faces. Gotta keep it from the boobs up, though. As soon as that baby bump gets in view, it’s bye bye Playboy Bunny, Hello Peter freaking Rabbit.
Now that I am pregnant, I can’t get pregnant. Mavrick and I can bang with impunity, secure in the knowledge that he cannot knock me up. And we actually have been having a very healthy amount of sex. Turns out, Mavrick has a pregnancy fetish. Which I found odd (although it shames me to admit with my kinky tendencies that I find anything odd) until I started talking to other people with penises. Turns out, pregnancy fetishes are so common, they shouldn’t even be called fetishes. It’s totally normal. Who knew?
And …let’s see. What else is awesome about being pregnant? Let me think about this … hold on … um … nothing. That’s it. Boobies and sex. Which, to be quite honest, are just fine when I’m not pregnant. So I got nothing.
Not drinking? Totally sucks ass. Let me clarify. I am actually fine with not drinking. I can honestly tell you there have only been a handful of times when I actually thought, gee, I wish I could have a drink. What sucks is watching OTHER people drink.
Was I that obnoxious? Did my eyes glass over like that? Did such stupid, stupid, stupid things come out of MY mouth? IS THAT WHAT I LOOK LIKE WHEN I DANCE??
Drunk people are annoying as hell. Even my best friends. Even my beloved Mavrick. Especially my beloved Marvrick. Bless his blackened soul, for the whole first week of my pregnancy, he ordered a soda when we went out. A whole week. That must have been a very hard week for him.
And let’s not even start on the hormones that make me want to kill myself, other people, family pets, neighbors, the guy at Sunoco … I seriously walk around like a homicidal maniac 80% of the time. I swing from sunny optimism, to blackest dread, to surety that I am, in fact, the ugliest person alive, to hysteria, to howling laughter. All in a 30 second time span. It’s exhausting. I truly don’t know how actual crazy people have the strength to get out of bed every day. Good for you, crazy people! Every shower you take is a little victory.
And sometimes, when you add pregnancy hormones and drinking people together, violence can happen. To whit; this is an actual conversation had by Mavrick and me, and I think the fact that I didn’t snap his neck is proof that I do, indeed, love this man:
The scene: At Cain’s, watching the Pens, Caps game.
Mavrick: “Who shot that goal?”
Me: “Lucky number 13! Guerin. Dude is like 41.”
Mav: “I know. He is one of two Pens that are older than me.”
Me: “Really? Who is the other?” (frantically scrambling to think of who it could be before he tells me. Because for some reason, I get unreasonably angry when he knows something I don’t. But I’m pregnant. I get unreasonably angry when he breathes the wrong way.)
Mav: “Fedotanko.” (Triumphant, half drunken smile. HA HA! YES! I knew something Mindbling didn’t! WOO. IN YOUR FACE SMARTY PANTS.)
Me: “No way. He looks so young!”
Mav: “I will have you know I got carded buying a case of beer yesterday. Not ALL of us look our age.”
Me: “Hold up. Are you saying I look old?”
Mav: “No. I’m saying you look your age.”
Me: Eyes well up with tears, lower lips starts to quiver, I immediately feel old, ugly, and unattractive, and the desire to break his neck, Chuck Norris-style, becomes almost unbearable. My night? Ruined. His night? Also ruined. Cause when Mindbling isn’t happy, no one within a fifteen foot radius is going to be happy. (If any of our male readers with children want to step in and explain to him the delicate finesse in which pregnancy hormones must be dealt with, please do. I cannot promise he will live through another such episode.)
So no, I am not a fan of the being pregnant. Thankfully this is a temporary condition, one that I am very close to being halfway over with. In just a few weeks, I will be 20 weeks pregnant, and starting on the downhill slide to labor. Or, what we on the blog are going to be calling, “Get The Fuck Away From Mindbling Before She Hurts You. She Is Out Of Her Mind Crazy”.