First of all, I want to thank everyone that has been sending me awesome feedback from the previous post. I heard from pregnant ladies, and not pregnant ladies, all of you were super nice and made me feel super helpful and Oprah-ish.
All of this has made me think about how hung up we all get about the gross/weird shit our bodies do. But it also made me think about how we shouldn’t be hung up at all over that stuff, because every body in the world does gross/weird shit. Our bodies have to do all that stuff to survive. What happens if you never, ever poop? You die, bitches. What happens if your body never expels fluids that it has deemed no longer suitable to be in your body? You die, bitches. What happens if you never sweat, or fart, or make boogers? You die, bitches. Science. So let’s all just be over it, and be thankful for all the gross because it is the gross that keeps us alive. Amen.
Moving on, welcome to Adventures in Pregland.
+ Adam and I started our childbirth class last week. We are doing a four-week course in getting the baby out of me. Then we have a breastfeeding class, because I have been told it can be slightly less easy than boob–>baby. And then we have an infant care class, so neither of us can be like, “Oh man, I’m just no good at changing shitty diapers. Guess you’ll have to do it. Womp womp.”
Any crap, our childbirth class is taught by this really tiny old lady. She comes up to maybe my ribcage. And she dresses like this.
So the little old lady teaching our class rules. Some of the idiots we are taking it with, do not. There’s one couple that will not shut the hell up while I am trying to learn all this important shit. And the dude in this couple is the worst. The WORST. Any mention of blood, fluids, needles, discomfort, ice chips, babies, he turns green and has a mini freakout in his chair. Sir, you are not even the one having a baby. You just have to sit there and hold your wife’s hand and maybe endure some verbal abuse from her. You don’t even have to look at all the stuff. So please. NUT UP. No one is asking you to push an entire person out of your parts, leaving you no reason to be acting like such a turd.
+ I may have found the first suitable swimsuit ever made for a pregnant lady. We have already talked about what total balls it is in the world of preg swimsuit choices. It was balls enough that I just stopped looking and decided I would spend this whole pregnancy indoors. And then I grew out of almost everything I own, and realized I need more maternity clothes than the one pair of shorts I bought. This search has brought me to places that non-preg me simply does not go. One of my least favorite places? Old Navy. I hate the shit out of that store. But they have preg clothes, so I decided to browse online. And I found this precious gem.
No, it’s not fancy or crazy or anything that special. But it also does not have polkadots or a bow or effing paisley. And it isn’t a v-neck/halter top. Almost every pregsuit I see has a v-neck or a halter top, probably so pregs can show off their huge tatties. Pregnancy has not given me huge tatties. I would totally be down with showing them off if they were huge, but alas. I am still the same bra size I was, pre-fetus. So this rules for me. Thanks for doing something right for once, Old Navy. However, this does not make up for all the creepy mannequin commercials. Unforgivable.
+ I decided to frustrate the living hell out of myself by trying to make a dessert that requires the most work for the least amount of payoff per unit. Cake pops. Yes, they are presh and fun and new and everyone says they’re the new cupcake. They’re also a stone cold bitch that wants to make you feel inadequate and feeble minded.
The only reason I completed these whores was pure spite. I was so angry at the process and the dessert in general, that my only motivation for finishing them was to get revenge on them and to show cake pops that they could not break me.
Yes, they are cute. But, in my highly respected and informed opinion, totally not worth it. After I mixed the crumbled up cake together with the icing, I would have been way more satisfied by just eating all of that with a spoon. It wouldn’t have involved a crapload of crying, self doubt, or nearly as much swearing.