Things No One Told Me About Pregnancy

I feel like all the mothers out there secretly snicker to themselves when they see one of us "newbies" coming along. Some mothers aren't even secretive about it, but I can identify the smirk that falls upon their mouths when I share that I am pregnant for the first time.

I KNEW it would be uncomfortable.
I KNEW it would be hard.

But I THOUGHT it would be glowy, and maybe a teensy bit softly romantic, and fascinating.

It is not. At least, not for me.
Being pregnant is BULLSHIT, save the reward at the end. No, not the vein-popping, vagina-ripping delivery "reward at the end" part. The part when that is over and you finally get to meet the squirmy blob that has been taking residence in your midsection for 9 months, stealing all your vitamins and nutrients.

I've wanted to write this post for a while, but kept hesitating because of friends who have had sad things happen.

Then I realized that I need to voice this toxic shit before it eats me ALIVE.

Things no one told me about pregnancy (aka likely knowingly withheld from me so as to not give me reason to never reproduce):

   1. For whatever reason, you will become a drizzly, drippy pee-er, and will constantly have to go. **Bonus points for creative ways to wipe without throwing out your back.

Ready? AIM! Splaaaaaatter!

   2. Even the most seasoned-hemmorhoided-vet cannot prepare for the carnage a growing fetus will have on your rectal region. A baboon has got NOTHIN' on a third trimester pregnant woman.

Even the obstetrician baboon on the right is shocked at the size of her arse balloons.

   3. While possibly not commonplace for most women, it is possible (as with me) to have CONSTANT abdominal pain and ache. 24 hours a day. With no relief.

   4. Throw in the fun and good times of an umbilical hernia just behind the ole belly button, and you've got yourself a freakish baby bump, extreme pain, inability to exercise or meet others at pre-natal fitness events, full-on uselessness, and the inability to do anything that engages the core/abdominal muscles. I'm sure you can all see how this is going to end well after the baby is born. Better yet, just imagine all that pushing with completely flaccid, unused-for-9-month ab muscles. Expect a horrifyingly graphic post on this come June.

You may be asking yourself, "Self, what the f_ck does this graphic have to do with an umbilical hernia and pregnancy?"... At least, that's what I said when the free image site gave me this when I searched "hernia". Oh well. Too bad. It's free, so it stays.

   5. Sleep. Hahahahaha. Propping up with pillows? Nice try. Recovery position? Nope. Side sleeping? Well, I can be on my side, but I'm still missing the sleeping part.

   6. Some/many/most? obstetricians don't give a flying fuck. You get a 7 minute appointment time, and you'd best talk fast. The best gem so far from my OB when asking about safety of medications and supplements: "Well, pretty much anything is safe to take". Really? SERIOUSLY? Are you fucking for real? Because I am pretty damn sure that is not accurate. But I'm going to go drink some Drano and take a boatload of Advil and get back to you. (Note: I'm kidding. Don't touch Advil if you're pregnant, or Drano if you value being alive. Both of 'em can be dangerous).

   7. Whining. So much whining. Hungry, thirsty, not thirsty, no room to eat, need comforting, can't get comfortable, back aches, feet are swollen, tailbone feels bruised, baby is painfully kicking my vagina/bladder/uvula....

   8. That "pregnancy glow" everyone is referring to is just a fancy term for too-goddamn-hot. I sweat like a waterfall. I need to tear my shirt off at random times because I am totally overheating. The more hot I am, the less I drink, and the cycle worsens and repeats!

I'm pretty sure he's got that pregnancy glow. AMIRITE?!?!

   9. The fatigue. Oh the fatigue. And the iron loss. I think a normal level for iron is supposed to be above 50, even better if it's closer to 100. I am sitting at 12. I can't take iron pills and I can't keep the liquid iron down. At all. And I've shared this with my doc many times. Low iron can result in low birth weight for baby, possible increased blood loss/need for a transfusion during delivery, possible increase in the likelihood of post-partum depression, and an increased risk of still birth. But hey, my OB doesn't care. Her solution? Take iron pills. Thanks.

   10. The weight gain. I was perhaps slightly underweight before the Hubs knocked me up. I have since had temporary, drastic changes in my nausea and ability to eat. I capitalize on those moments, and have managed to pack on about 40 lbs. in 6 months. FORTY POUNDS, YO. And I still have 3 months to go!!! I am going to be a tank come delivery time, and who knows how long it'll take to lose... especially if I have hernia surgery in there, too!

There's more, including reading stuff that indicates passing things larger than a mango AFTER the baby is born could mean trouble (W. T. F.?????!???!)... I just don't even know how to cope with these last months. And it only goes downhill from here...

Time to syphon that pint of cotton candy ice cream into one side of my mouth while I comfort myself with pineapple I will regurgitate shortly on the other side of my mouth.

Honey? Have you seen the antacids anywhere???

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Angry Meter Maid is Angry...

Bwahahaha, someone posted this on Facebook and I had to share it.

I've used old tickets on a whim and a prayer when totally out of change before... and once I turned an old ticket upside down (I got busted for that one and got a $45 ticket). But this... THIS IS BRILLIANCE, and worth the ticket:

How much time you willing to spend, hmmmmmmm?

I want to be a troll  when  if I grow up.



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Sh*t My Husband Says

No word of a lie.

Today, I missed catching the garbage truck. My hubs always collects and puts out the garbage and recycling (sometimes I assist), but I got up later than planned and couldn't throw out my moldy, rotted flowers in with the trash.

So I improvised.

We have this high-falutin' food chewer-and-spitter-upper in the sink in our new place. It's called an InSinkErator, or garburator, and once I got over the insane guilt it caused me for not green-binning the organic waste, I started to kind of love it.

I'm evil, I know.

Stinky food peels? Garburatored.
Shit like cores and inedible vegetable parts getting in my way when I am (trying to) cook? Garburatored.

Mildewy flowers that have clouded their vase and are emanating a horrible rotten smell? Well, I would normally say garbage. But... I missed the truck and those babies smelled like rotten alien poo laced with a maggoty barn.

So... I figured... since I was sorting through what was still alive and salvageable right there at the sink... that... well, hey there, garburator! Flowers aren't so different from vegetables, right?

I'm sure you've handled worse, Garburator! In fact, the old owner of this house said there was nothing you couldn't chew up! So...

I started jamming rotten flowers down the sink. Despite my common sense telling me that it probably wasn't wise.

(Re-reading that caused me to break into laughter. Dear gawd this baby is going to be so screwed once it is born...)

Though, it was fun to watch the longer stems spinning around chaotically while the garburator did its thing... I kept squinting, half expecting daisy shrapnel to find its way back up and into my eyes.

So... the really hard stems still went in the garbage, which was okay because they weren't stinky. I threw a few more things in the sink as I sorted. Then I realized that some of them actually had a thin green wire threaded through them to keep them Viagra-proud and upright.

SHIT.

Pretty sure metal wire is NOT garburate-able.

Though I am 99% sure that I hadn't tossed any wired flowers down there, I was still convinced I had somehow busted our new-fangled fancy sink doodad. It seemed like stuff was still spinning, and water was spitting back at me when it shouldn't be. Dammit!

Fast forward to when the hubs is home.
I admit I shoved flowers down the sink. He looks at me in disbelief, probably remembering how impossible many of the stems were to trim, on the night he brought them home to me when I was quite sick.

I hadn't explained that I threw those super tough motherf*ckers straight into the garbage.

His next comment?

"Did you put your hand into the garburator to see if there was anything stuck?"

Seriously.

I mean, really, seriously.

Hahahah, yeah right, like I'd have a manicured nail like that. If I did, I'd be keeping it far away from the garburator.

Anyone who knows me knows EXACTLY how that scenario would have ended up. I would be raising this kid eventually with one hand and one prosthetic limb. All for the sake of a kitchen doodad.

No, sorry honey, I didn't put my hand into the terrifyingly whirring, spinning, bladed, sinkhole of destruction. For once, just ONCE, I realized that the potential gain did not outweigh the more-than-likely loss.

Ah, husband. I should have gotten rational points for that one. Really.
Seriously.

So he shoved his hand down there.

Into the garburator, I mean, you pervert.

And he declared that was what they did when stuff got stuck in their garburator growing up, but that it felt like it was all clear.

Hmph.

Last time I'm honest about jamming inappropriate things down the garbage disposal.


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