You Will Now Think of Me Every Thanksgiving.

This has been the most pregnant week of my life. All the things, ALL THE THINGS, are happening. It’s not all bad, it’s not all good, it’s not all stuff I am ready to tell the world yet. But it’s all pregnant, all the time around these parts. My parts. All my parts.

 

First order of business: I was told, in more medical terms, that I am only drinking enough water to be pregnant with a dust-baby. Remember how I briefly mentioned a little while ago that I puked when I got out of the shower? This time I passed out.

 

Me.

 

Adam came home from work and took me to the hospital, and all was a-okay. I was just told that I am crazy dehydrated and that I need to stop being such an idiot. I am supposed to drink a big gulp of water every ten minutes, all day for all the days. I’m working on it. I’m not great at it. I am not a thirsty person in normal life, except for beer. Always parched for beer. It’s hard as crap to drink as much water as the world wants me to when I am not thirsty. So I’m working on it. And I now prepare for showers by bringing a glass of water and a container of orange juice into the bathroom so that I am prepared for emergencies.

 

Being pregnant and being Lindsay Lohan puts you in the hospital for the same stuff.

 

Second order of business: The boy is huge! ENORMOUS BOY OVER HERE. When he kicks, he moves my belly. It is the best thing of my whole life. It is as captivating as Game of Thrones. To be fair, Game of Thrones made itself slightly less interesting for me this week with its complete lack of gratuitous sex, but whatever. I can sit on my couch and poke my belly going “Hey, baby! You awake?” and he can thump through my flesh like “UGGGH MOM LEAVE ME ALONE.”

 

Third order of business: This is for those of you who are not yet pregnant. Take some pictures of your boobs. Take lots and lots of pictures of your boobs. Hide them so they don’t end up on the internet. Unless that’s something you wouldn’t mind, in which case, go ahead. But just appreciate your boobs for the wonderful boobs they are. Take this from someone who loved her boobs. Loved them like a son.

 

Right now, they’re just there for aesthetic purposes and to get you out of speeding tickets. In the future, they will start gearing up for their actual purpose that nature made them for before cars were invented. And they’re going to get weird. Mine haven’t gotten fully weird yet, but I can see where they are headed, and I’m not excited about it. Yes, I am excited to not pay for formula and to bond with my baby while feeding him and to pass on antibodies and all that good shit. But I’m not excited for dish plate nips or leaking through my cute new shirt or having to wait until I am done making kids and feeding them with my own body to buy fresh new fun bags.

 

This is the amount of food your nipples will one day be able to accomodate.

 

I miss you, boobs. I will totally be buying better versions of you when this is all done. Wait for me.

 

To recap, today we learned that

-You better drink a literal ton of water if you don’t want to die.

-Game of Thrones owes me next week.

-Seeing your baby kick will lead to your first instances of nagging your baby.

-Enjoy your boobs while you still love them and show them to strangers so you can get a thumbs up about them once in a while.

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2 thoughts on “You Will Now Think of Me Every Thanksgiving.

  1. I’m still in mourning for my old cute, perky boobs with little, light pink nips. Now I’ve got dark, veiny, obscenely-large National Geographic boobs that I know will never be the same. Happy for my kid, but sad for my husband. Although he’s not complaining. Just me. I do all the complaining. Can’t wait to see what breastfeeding and then stopping breastfeeding will do to them. :/

    1. I love complaining. High five, sisterwoman. And hey, when they’re done being stupid and functional, you can always buy some super cute 20something year old style boobs. All is not lost!

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