I’ll Cry if I Want to.

The amount of tears that I have shed in the past almost six months is amazing. There are tears dried on every sleeve, chair, pillow, blanket, shoulder and animal in my house. Most of the reasons are because of corporate America’s excellent marketing departments. Like, The Santa Claus iPhone commercials (when he asks Siri to show him all the good little boys and girls just breaks my soul) and do I even need to explain my level of hatred towards that bitch Sarah McLaughlin and her slew of handicapped puppies?

So, I need to remind the world: pregnant women’s emotions need to be handled like your carrying a homemade grenade through shark infested waters. Think before you speak in almost every scenario. What you may think is just an ambivalent, non-committal answer to a question about our appearance may rip our souls apart and make us sob in the shower for the next three days.

Example #1:

Before I was pregnant, I wasn’t rail-thin. I was very nervous when I found out that I was pregnant that people wouldn’t, in fact, know I was pregnant and I would be like one of those Hardee’s workers on the reality train-wreck that is “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.” But, since becoming pregnant my belly has definitely ballooned. But, this morning I was feeling a little down in the dumps about my appearance and decided to spring a question on my husband while he was in the shower.

Me: “Babe, is my belly the same size as before I was pregnant?”

Now, keep in mind I am almost six months pregnant. This question was such a trap it should have been in the deleted scenes of Ocean’s 11. But, pregnant women should not be blamed. We don’t know if we want to be fat or want to be thin. Does he say, “Yes baby you look just like you did before you were pregnant.” And I break into hysterics thinking that I was a fatass before I was pregnant and now I am even more fat and no one even notices because I’m just that “fat-girl-who-always-looks-pregnant.” Or does he say, “Oh no, honey, your belly is much bigger.” Then I become “the-pregnant-fatty-that-her-husband-sees-as-morbidly-obese-and-will-never-be-sexy-to-him-again.”

So what did he do…

Husband: *painfully long pause* “I don’t think so.”

Cue quiet sobs on the other side of the shower curtain.

He was doomed from the gate. He would have been better off pretending to have slipped and cracking his head open.

Example #2

But, not only are we hyper-sensitive, some of you people can be hyper-assholes too. For instance, I own a restaurant and our uniform is a company t-shirt. The other day I was waiting for the bartender to get me a drink for my table when a regular chimed from across the room, “Hey Ashley, looks like you need a maternity t-shirt!”

After I got over the instinct to smash in her forehead with a frosty mug, I picked my dignity up off the floor and waddled out of there not amusing that piece of work with an answer. Really? What happened to you as a child that you need to point out a weight gain on a woman who has 18 weeks of weight gain in her future?

So, in conclusion, please take the time to bite your tongue before you comment on a pregnant woman’s appearance. Even commenting on her outfit might send her over the edge. Picture this: you wake up one morning and: your once-clear complexion is dry and riddled with white-heads, you are too fat to shave your legs, your shirts are too short and your pants are being held together by a withering hair-tie, your hair is limp, your breath smells like puke, you pee your pants when you sneeze, your wearing Crocs because even your toes are fat and… it will only get worse. Then, and only then, can you talk to a pregnant woman.

Birth Plans

Here I sit, preparing for birth which feels remotely like preparing for death: I’m terrified, there’s lots of paperwork and I’m not 100% sure what will happen afterwards. The past two days I have been lamenting over a birth plan. Initially, I thought birth plans were just for hippies who will scream at nurses if they so much as recommend a Band-Aid because that’s not “natural birth.” But then I found this handy-dandy online birth plan creator. Basically, it gives you all the possible options for your baby’s birthday that you would want hospital staff know about.

This sent me into a turmoil. Not only did I not know there were this many options for me to put in a birth plan, but I didn’t know if I agreed or disagreed with half of the available options. Something as simple as “I would like music in my room” sent my mind spinning. While it would be nice to sit and relax to some Norah Jones, what if I hook up my iPod and the minute the baby is born it shuffles to ICP? I don’t need a baby Juggalo.

I brought up the option to my husband of who is going to catch the baby when he’s born. While I always thought the doctor did it and there wasn’t a grey area, there is an option available for him or I to do it. This put him in a tailspin. His face contorted like I gave him the Meaning of Life and he just couldn’t compute. We sat contemplating sliminess, grip, awkwardness, risk, fear… and I still don’t know the answer.

This is too much for us. I like to know my options in every scenario. But give me 100 options on the most important day in my life and I need a Xanax. I think I just might skip the whole birth plan creator and go for something much more simple. Maybe I will hand them a slip that says, “Birth plan: You have the PhD. We, unfortunately, do not. Please treat us like the sheep that we are and with the most care and respect, just get this baby out quickly, painlessly and healthily. The end.”

But I know myself, I will sit and fret over these options for the next five months. There will be 100 drafts of the same document. I will go through dozens of White-Out tubes because I will watch something on a Baby Story or hear someone’s Little Shop of Birthing Horrors that changes my mind. Then I will probably be in such an all out frenzy on the actual day that I forget it at home…

Here’s to hoping.

Letters to the Womb

Since I work 60+ hours a week and am five months pregnant, I haven’t found a lot of time to write down my little idioms of pregnancy for my baby boy to read. I have written a lot of the ups and downs of the actual physical changes during pregnancy. But haven’t taken a minute to address He Who Matters Most. I missed the dates of a lot of firsts so I want to take some time today to write a little letter to my son.

Dear Baby Boy McKinnon,

Now, I call you that only because I don’t want someone else to steal your name. I of course, already have you named. You have been pretty much since you were first imagined, not yet even a little seed growing in my belly. It was the one (and only) name that your daddy immediately said “yes” to. There wasn’t a lot of hemming and hawwing. Which, once you get to know daddy a little bit more, you will realize how crazy that is. Someday I will be able to explain to you just how lucky you are to have that name. I have been calling you that for the past couple of weeks. Sometimes when I’m delivering pizzas, I talk to you. I described all the Christmas lights to you this year. I sing you songs that I hope you will like once you’re born (someone has to like country music besides me). I also rub my hands on my belly almost non-stop all day trying to let you know I’m here, and I love you.

Let me tell you how daddy has been so far…

Well, you weren’t a surprise. We wanted you for months and you didn’t take very long to start growing. I don’t think daddy realized just how quickly you were going to come along. He was so excited to have a little boy that I don’t think he even believes you’re in there yet. He can’t wait to teach you how to play chess and fill your head with sports stats. But first, I know he is counting down the days to hold you in his arms for the first time. He smiles at my belly, you know. I see him do it almost every day. He’s proud of you already.

Enough about us, let’s talk about you. For the first few months, mommy was very, very sick. The only think you liked was Spaghettios and french fries. But now, you are one hungry little boy. Your favorite foods are: donuts, Big Macs, peppers, watermelon, honey crisp apples and Mountain Dew (which mommy can’t really have). You’re probably going to drive mom crazy with your appetite once your born. You will have your own little menu just like daddy. Or maybe you will both be sharing a bag of potatoes each night with cheesecakes for dessert?

Right now, you have been riding around in my belly for five months. But you decided to wait until Christmas time to really make your presence known. Not only did mommy’s belly get much bigger that weekend, I also felt you doing somersaults the entire time. You must have known just how much family and friends were talking about you and buying you presents just waiting for you to be born. You really love to rumble around when mommy’s trying to fall asleep. We can’t wait for the first time we can feel you kick on the outside so you can kick Chuey while he sleeps. 🙂

I will admit, we are already halfway there but we are very excited. We can’t wait to teach you our favorite things. I can’t wait to read your favorite books to you every night. Dad can’t wait to play you in some video games. But we both really can’t wait until that first night you are home. We will both take a look at you snuggled in your crib and know even more than we do now how absolutely perfect you are.

We love you,

Mom and Dad