This was a huge mistake. I’m 900 weeks pregnant and scheduled to
go into the hospital tomorrow to have this thing ripped out of me. I gotta tell
ya, I am not prepared. The only silver lining I currently see is that I’ll be
able to smoke soon.
For starters, I already can’t sleep. This is probably due to the
fact that I am literally humongous and every sleeping position seems to either
crush or suffocate the baby, thereby relegating me to nuanced choreography that
requires a plethora of pillows, blankets, and a spark of creativity. Needless
to say, none of this has worked. I’ve been up since 3 a.m.
The good news is, I’ve been able to get a lot of support from
Husband. He does this great thing during the day where he pities me and insists
that I wake him up in the middle of the night if he’s snoring and I can’t
sleep. Solidarity. One night I tried this, only to realize that he’s just as
good at ignoring me in his dreams as he is during normal business hours. Is it
wrong that I’m looking forward to a few relaxing days in the hospital where I
will be taken care of by nurses who don’t snore? They’ve offered to bring a bed
in for Husband and I’m still trying to formulate a plan to expel him from the hospital. I’m sure everything will be easier once the baby gets
here. OH SHIT, I’M HAVING A BABY!!!
Due to the fact that my entire spine is fusing together, I am
scheduled to have a C-Section on August 11th at 7:15 a.m. As
previously mentioned, I’ve opted to roll through this pregnancy blind
and did literally no research in order to prepare for this scenario. It was
only recently that I learned I’d be having what some people like to call “major surgery.” I found this to be
alarming but it was too late. It turns out, there’s really no good way to get a
baby out of you. Either a baby rips
your vagina to shreds or a team of medical professionals cuts you open, throws
your organs on a coffee table, and hands your daughter to your husband and
tells them both what a great job they did.
The good news is, I lost a pound! Granted, this is after having
gained fifty, but it feels like a triumph and I think I should be
congratulated. I have my unborn baby to thank for this. Towards the end of
one’s pregnancy, your baby completely overtakes your body, forcing all organs
to new locations and turning what was formerly known to be saliva into a
burning acid that makes it nearly impossible to eat any food. It’s great! The
only thing I eat now is Tums. I’d snort them if I could, but I have reason to
believe it’s not advantageous.
Have I mentioned that my maternity clothes don’t fit? At this
point, I’m just draping sheets around myself and calling them clothes. I use
bandages for bras and disposable pedicure sandals are the only thing that fit
my swollen brick feet. Seriously, I look great. I knew I wasn’t alone in this
so I jumped online in an attempt to find some comradeship with other pregnant
women who were wallowing in self-pity. Here’s what I found:
Martha: “I loved being pregnant. It was
like a dream come true for me. Got off the pill one month and pregnant the
next, unbelieveable. I had long awaited seing myself with a big belly. At 33yrs
I loved it. I had not one bit of morning sickness, not one ache, not one pain.”
Ok,
so obviously I hadn’t started in the right place. My first attempt at pregnant
solidarity was to Google, “Did
you like being pregnant?” as which point I was directed to whore Martha who
clearly hates spell check but LOVES being pregnant. I can only imagine that
Martha spends her Sundays at Church and has never snorted a Tums. Regardless, I
would not be deterred and thought perhaps a different approach was necessary. I
finally picked up one of the Parent magazines that my mother-in-law had been
shipping to me weekly (she doesn’t know about the Internet yet). I turned right
to an article titled, “20
Reasons Why I Loved Being Pregnant.” I was willing to believe that maybe I had
missed something and began skimming the list for recognition — no such luck. Here
are a few of their gems:
10. World-class service. One night at a trendy Italian
restaurant with a 45-minute wait, the maitre d' insisted, "We don't make
the mama wait! Take this table!”
I
went to Canter’s one day for brunch and they told me I was too big to fit in a
booth.
16. Baby hiccups!
Once I figured out what those weird rhythmic pulses in my belly were, they gave
me a good giggle.
Is that the thing where it feels like you’re getting punched in
the cunt?
18. Watching my
husband look at cribs and diaper pails with the intensity he used to save for
digital cameras and HDTV.
Replace “digital
cameras and HDTV” with “syringes
and tin foil,” remember that your child is likely going to have severe
substance-abuse issues, start fantasizing a night out at the bar, realize the
error of looking at cribs and diaper pails with Husband, immediately call Sober
Coach.
The coup de grace came when I accidentally stumbled upon this on
Pinterest:
Mine should read: I’m mildly tolerating the parasite that’s
trying to kill me.
No, but here’s the deal, I’m clearly already a bad mom. My
strategy is to never teach my child how to read or show her where the Internet
is (worked on my mother-in-law). That’s got to be one of the signs of good
parenting, right?!
If all goes according to plan, I will meet this broad tomorrow. God
only knows what I’m about to encounter. Luckily, I’m her major food source so
if she starts to act lippy, I can always starve her so that she knows who’s in
charge.
Everyone says that after the kid is actually here, your heart
will crack open and you will know a love you’ve never experienced before. I’m
guessing those people have never tried sausage. Regardless, I’m willing to
believe that my whole life is about to change. OMG, I’m gonna have a baby!
