Well hello there. You may remember me. I used to blog here and on occasion offended people...made fun of people, etc, etc, etc. All of this pretty much came to a screeching halt last year when I got pregnant. That's right, there is an offspring and its a she. She's already given me the finger several times, thrown up all over me, pooped ALL over me, and yanks my hair out hourly with her tiny demon fingers, so it is clear to me that she has inherited my genes and I will be repaid ten fold for how I have lived my life. Ehh, not to mention her father is a real ass too, so we are in trouble. Anyway, I digress. I stopped blogging because well to be honest, I was in the trenches. I was in the dirty, evil trenches of the 7th layer of hell also known as pregnancy. I was too busy trying to keep my head above water, err, out of the toilet to blog. I mean, it was a real, real hell of a time. And what really pissed me off was that nobody told me how awful pregnancy could be. Nobody warns you which, in my opinion is a complete and total betrayal among the female race. Aren't we supposed to stick together you bitches?! Ha! (No is the answer to this question obviously.) I finally decided it was because the women in the world want all the other women to go through what they went through. Its like this secret among mothers and they are all in this little mommy club just mothereffing the hell out of the cute little naive, newly pregnant girl that has no idea what she is walking into.
Are you puzzled? Are you thinking, "I never felt better than when I was pregnant." Well go straight to hell I say! Do not even bother doing the dishes. Just get up , go find the nearest bus and stand in front of it because you are hated by many women…even if they don't say that to your face. Or whatever, don't go to hell. Just know that one day you may say that to the wrong woman and she may lose it and I can't say I'd blame her. Especially if she's pregnant…and having a hard time. Especially if she spends her whole day swallowing just so she doesn't throw up all over everything around her. Especially if she has popped every pill the OB prescribed to her to help her be able to eat something other than a baked potato and all she got in return was 9 days of constipation from the pills. And especiallyyyyy, if her husband just happened to walk through the door from an emergency grocery store run because she ran out of potatoes and when she looked in the bag, she wanted to shove them down his throat because the only explanation for the size of these damn potatoes is that he got them from Saturn or Neptune or some-freaking-where in outer space and she knew they would NEVER microwave properly.
**Here is where I will stop pretending that this story happened to someone else. It isn't about someone else. Its actually about me, sadly.**
So, I go into the kitchen, wash the giant brick of a potato, all the while knowingggg its fate. I slammed it into the microwave and after 5 minutes, I retrieved the still hard as a rock potato. After 3 more minutes, then 4 more minutes, the damn thing no longer looked like food. The ends were wrinkled and the pure life had been nuked out of it, yet the middle was still hard as a rock. This was not edible. Translation to a pregnant, miserable, sick, irrational girl=breakdown. Full on total, uncontrollable emotional breakdown. I started stabbing it. Hard. With a really sharp knife. Which alerted my husband who was sitting in a nearby room, probably oblivious to how much his potato purchase had knocked me off my rocker. Stab. Stab. Stabstabstabstab. Long sigh. "Stupid, stupid, potato." STAB. Stabstabstab. Stab STAB. "Grrrrrrrrr." Another sigh. Tears. Tears. Can no longer see through the tears, yet still stabbing the potato and calling it stupid. And then I couldn't get my breath, but don't worry, Im still stabbing it with the extra sharp knife. I think this is the point where my husband finally was able to catch my hand that was doing the stabbing and take it out of my hand. And then I fell into his chest, sobbing and crying, and drooling all over his shirt as I tried to tell him what was wrong, but only spit bubbles gurgled out of my mouth.
What?? Don't act like you've never cried like that. Maybe it wasn't over a potato but you know you've cried like that.
I finally was able to say, "I hate that potato!!!!!" He was able to look and see what the problem was, although there were bits and chunks and pieces of potato all over the counter at that point. Long story short (ha), he made me another one while I sat on the couch and caught my breath and wiped my nose.
And this was my life. This was my life for 10 months. Oh, you thought pregnancy was 9 months?? Nerp, its 10. Surpriseeee bitches! There was also a little thing called gestational diabetes that occurred very shortly after I was able to actually eat and enjoy food again. And really, I could not think of anything except the fact that I was pregnant and was forced to eat a very limited diet, lacking anything and everything I actually enjoyed eating including pasta, pizza, cupcakes, chocolate, pie, cookies, and soda. It really was just bullshit. Near the end, I had to leave a restaurant because I was crying due to the fact that I had to eat eggs for breakfast for the 3rd month in a row. Yes, eggs every morning for three months because this kept my blood sugar under control. Holy holy holy balls. It was like a torture prison. I didn't want to blog! I didn't want to live!!!
So anyway. Here we all are now. Baby T is 2 months old, so I survived. My husband survived, luckily. Zeus and Fritz made it. Louie the first, our fish, sadly didn't make it, but I guess all wars have casualties.
So, now I'm one of those annoying people that only post pictures of their baby. I used to hateee people like that. I know people hate me and my baby posts. Oh well. Its my life now. Sometimes I brush my hair, but mostly I just take pictures of baby T doing the same thing she did yesterday and the day before that. I mean, she's two months old. She can't like really doooo a whole lot. I'm thinking of starting a separate blog about motherhood, so this one can continue to be about how much I hate people. No blurred lines here. Ugh, hate that song. Do I sound like my brain is smaller than the last time I blogged? Because I am pretty sure it is. The baby took a lot from me. But in all seriousness, I've heard pregnant women's brains literally get smaller. But I thought it grew back?? Its going to go back to normal size soon right? Oh yea, none of you bitches will tell any of us other bitches the truth about anything anyway so why am I asking?!
Welp, I need to sign off. My husband just said I was being vile to him. How is that even possible when all I'm doing is sitting on the floor writing this blog? Silently writing a blog, and still manage to be vile. That, folks, takes true talent.
Hope you've all had a really swell last year and were able to eat things other than potatoes and eggs. (Not really.)
Disclaimer:
It took me a long, long time to get pregnant. Roughly 3 years. A lot of shots, and procedures, and uncomfortable doctors appointments later, I managed to get pregnant. Something so many people take for granted. (hate you all too, by the way) Do not think for one second that I am not overwhelmingly, monumentally, insanely grateful for this precious little miracle baby girl. My heart is overflowing. I still, however, hate eggs and martian-grown potatoes.
**No, I did not stab Louie the first with a knife. I assume he died from natural causes.**
