Winter Is Coming.

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 11^th 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!