I continue to make horrible decisions. Exhibit 1: I’m pregnant. Probably wasn’t the strongest move on my part
seeing as I have no idea what’s entailed in baby rearing nor do I have any
money. Regardless, it has happened and
it’s too late to back out now…unless I go to Arkansas. It is shocking how little I know about being
pregnant. I’ve managed to do literally
zero research, evidenced by the fact that I didn’t even know how to correctly
read a pregnancy test. I’m not
sure if this is the best approach but it’s certainly exciting. Each day I am faced with new and confusing
information and I’m far too lazy to research anything so I continue to go with
my gut. There is another pregnant woman
at work and she seems to know an awful lot about what we’re supposed to be
doing. She never hesitates to school me
on what she’s learned from her baby books.
Woman Who Cares About Her Child: Um…Alison. Are you eating lunch meat?
Me: Damn right I am.
Woman: You’re not supposed to eat lunch meat while you’re
pregnant.
Me: I doubt that. I
think you’re confusing lunch meat with smoking.
Smoking is questionable. Lunch
meat is fine.
Woman: I promise you, lunch meat is not ok.
Me: Listen lady, I grew up in the Midwest where salami is
considered to be one of the four major food groups. I highly doubt my fetus will be able to
survive without it.
Woman: OMG.
Me: What?!
Woman: Are you drinking Diet Coke?
Me: Oh boy…
Woman: Aside from the fact that you’re not supposed to have
caffeine, aspartame has been linked to several different types of birth
defects.
Me: If anything you should be congratulating me on not doing
actual coke which, honestly, sounds delicious.
I can’t wait to have this baby so that I can drink again.
Woman: Wait…aren’t you an alcoholic?
Me: WAY TO REMIND ME, FUN POLICE! THANKS FOR RUINING LITERALLY THE ONLY THING I
THOUGHT I HAD TO LOOK FORWARD TO!
Clearly, I stopped talking to the other woman at work. I think it goes without saying that in
addition to her perfect pregnancy during which she doesn’t, among other things, use
cough drops, sleep on her stomach, take Advil, or eat soft cheeses, Woman at Work
is nine months pregnant and I’m pretty sure she’s still not wearing maternity
clothes. Basically she’s a witch and it
feels unfair that she should be employed and pregnant at the same time as
me. Everyone at work is continually
surprised that Woman Who Cares About Her Child is more pregnant than I am. Obviously this is because Woman at Work continues to be petite and agreeable whereas I am unreasonably
large and overtly angry. I can’t wait
for that bitch to go on maternity leave so that I never have to see her
again. Ugh…
As usual, I find my ignorance to be refreshing and
endearing. Sadly, literally nobody else
feels this way. This is particularly
true of Husband who I’m sure regrets impregnating/marrying me.
Me: Um...I think my belly button is broken.
Husband: It’s just getting ready to pop.
Me: LOL. You’re
stupid.
Husband: What?
No. Literally, at some point it
will pop out.
Me: Gross. Why?
Husband. Well,
your expanding uterus puts pressure on the rest of your abdomen which pushes
your belly button outward.
Me: How do you even know these things?
Husband: Well I realized we were having a baby and decided
to do like a thirty second Google search on what that would entail.
Me: You’re not better than me.
Husband: It feels like I am cause you continue to know
literally nothing.
Me: I know tons of stuff!
Husband: How many weeks pregnant are you?
Me: *blank stare*
Husband: Don’t you want to know anything about what’s
happening to you?
Me: Not really.
Husband: Why?
Me: It just feels like a lot of work.
Husband: Are you at all concerned about our child’s future?
Me: Absolutely. But
it feels like you’ve got this under control.
Husband: I hate you.
Me: Well you can’t leave me because I’m having your child.
Husband: Ugh…
I guess my point is that my marriage is doing great. In line with my horrible decision making, I recently convinced Husband that we
should go to New Orleans for Jazz Fest.
He was slightly hesitant and pointed out that I would be six months
pregnant. I could not understand how
that was relevant information. I MEAN…AM
I SUPPOSED TO STOP LIVING MY LIFE SOLELY BECAUSE I’M HOSTING A PARASITE? I AM NOT GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE MOMS WHO
HOLES UP AND DIES JUST BECAUSE SHE’S HAVING A BABY. I REFUSE TO LET MY FACEBOOK PAGE BECOME
LITTERED WITH PICTURES OF NEWBORNS INSTEAD OF DICK JOKES. I AM GOING TO BE FUN MOM! A COOL MOM!
I AM NOT GOING TO CHANGE! I AM
NOT GOING TO LET MOTHERHOOD HOLD ME BACK FROM EXPERIENCING LIFE! WE ARE GOING TO NEW ORLEANS! As with most of our “conversations,” Husband
had left the room by the time I was done spouting my anthem. I think the key to marriage is for one person
to be literally insane and the other person to be too tired to leave. #romance
I had a lot of big plans for our trip to New Orleans. I wanted to eat as much food as humanly
possible while still keeping my sleek physique.
My approach was to walk…a lot. I
had already mentally prepared Husband for this feat and knew that it would be
no problem at all. Our Airbnb was three
miles away from the Jazz Fest shuttle and my plan was to walk there every day. After day one, I realized the error of my
ways. I had failed to account for
several external issues that made the rest of my trip beyond challenging.
#1 I was 40 lbs. heavier that I had been when I booked the
trip.
#2 New Orleans is humid AF.
#3 I was beginning to experience feet swelling due to
pregnancy.
#4 If you’re super fat and trying to walk, you will experience
something called "chub rub" which results in a severe chaffing of the upper,
inner thighs.
#5 If you’re pregnant, you’re going to need water which I
had failed to take into consideration.
Basically I fucked up.
By the time we got to the shuttle after our three mile walk, I was
covered in dirt, my thighs were bleeding, my feet were busting out of my
sandals and Husband was ready for divorce.
Things went downhill from there.
I spent the next three days trying to get my feet back down to normal
size which literally never happened. I
still can’t fit back into my shoes. And
obviously I wasn’t going to let some bloody thighs keep me from having a good
time so I also spent the following three days drowning my sorrows in fried
oysters, po boys, jambalaya and beignets.
At the end of all that, I had to get on a plane which isn’t particularly
great for pregnant women (why didn’t anyone tell me?!). Below is a picture of my foot the day we got
back from NOLA. Needless to say, I am no
longer in charge of our vacations and Husband is making me learn one new fact a
day about being pregnant. Did you know
this lasts for 40 weeks? I’m furious. I continue to think I would be better off not
knowing. The more I learn the more
terrified I become. Being pregnant is a
lot like doing drugs. The less you know,
the more likely you are to enjoy yourself. Please stop sending me books.
