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: 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.
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.
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.