I May Have Written This Post From Inside My Freezer.

Summer is here, bitches. Sweet, sizzling mother of shit on a skillet, it is here. And it makes me want to punch every idiot who has been telling me, “Oh, you’re in for a hot summer! Hardyharharsnortfart.” I live in Maryland. Every summer is hot as crap. Although not as hot as summers down south. I spent a year in South Carolina when I graduated high school, and the summer that I was there, I was working two jobs. One as a waitress at a restaurant, where the uniforms were black pants and a heavy, huge black polo shirt. My other job was at an outdoor shopping center, working in a kiosk making hemp jewelry for spoiled idiots on vacation who were really into OAR and Dave Matthews. I would start my day at the hemp stand, sweating my balls off. I stored my restaurant uniform in the mini fridge there, because I would only have time to change in my car between jobs. It didn’t really help. Shit is gross in the south.


These are the kinds of idiots that would ask me if they could smoke the jewelry.


That sweat-ass summer cannot hold a candle to this one. Not only have we had heat indexes of like 107 gotdamn degrees; I get punched in the gut out of nowhere by enormous inner heat waves for no reason, with no warning. (**That is the first time I have ever attempted the use of a semi colon. If I did it wrong, I don’t care because I don’t know how to do that junk anyways.**) There are days that Adam comes home from work and I am sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my head, ready to meet my maker. And there is absolutely nothing that cools me off until that trip to hell has run its course.


That’s me.


We were at a friend’s birthday cookout over the weekend, and out of nowhere I got hit with the roasties. I told Adam I needed ice, so he gets me a baggie of ice and I pretty much don’t even feel it. I started getting sweaty and gross, so we tried going inside. Another thing I have learned while being pregnant: when people tell you that you are “glowing,” it is usually a nice way of them being dicks and saying you’re sweaty. So, being inside isn’t working, I am just getting hotter and sweatier, and then I start crying because I am gross and I can’t stop being gross. So we leave. And I start having the ugly hormonal cries. Not gonna lie, they were also a teensy bit related to me being upset that I was leaving cookout food behind. I’ve got my priorities.


That’s me when I think about all the rice krispie treats without a home.


As we drive home, I start cooling down. We get to the house and I get in an ice cold shower and try to wash all the stink and shame off of me. And then I was fine. I got changed and we went back out, and I ate for three hours and got to spend more time with our friends. And I may have been more proactive in my efforts to not start sweating like a whore in church, taking ice pack breaks before I felt like I was going to die.


Assuming I am not currently growing the worst child ever, Adam and I want to have more kids. When we decided to start trying for this guy, I pretty much assumed that it was going to take a while, so we didn’t really plan as far as timing goes. We just figured it would happen when it happened. Well, a while was like three minutes from going off of my birth control, so I now understand that we can do a little more as far as planning for the time frame of my next pregnancy. I will never be pregnant in the summer again, for as long as I live. I’ve already given my eggs a warning. I will smite all those suckers if they screw me over on this one. I want the option of being able to sit on our deck in my underwear when it is 20 degrees outside for every third trimester I ever have.


9 thoughts on “I May Have Written This Post From Inside My Freezer.

  1. I have actually made that statement before about the glowing thing. People tell me I’m glowing and I respond with something like “yeah that’s because I’m having hot flashes like a menopausal woman and the ‘glow’ is really the sheen from the sweat. But thanks.” Hah pregnant women make so much sense to me now.

  2. Ugh, I had my baby last October, so I was nice and ripe through the summer. I am a sweaty person by nature, so add pregnancy on top of that and I basically dealt with three plus months of swamp ass. I feel your pain! Just keep rubbing up on those ice packs and know that it will all be over soon.

    1. I’m normally sweaty, too!! Palms and feet. It’s super attractive. I am now 24/7 damp. I so feel for you with your October baby. I’m just straight up not having sex from September to December for the rest of time or until my uterus peaces out.

      1. You won’t want to anyway, trust me. Shit gets weird! Best of luck with the bebe. As weird, damp, frustrating, terrifying it is, the cliche that all a-holes use is true. It’s the most amazing thing ever. You going for that epidural??

      2. It’s awesome. My husband has video of the silliness. Well silliness until I passed out for several hours. Have your man bring a good book or movie, you will be no fun for a while.

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