I have been pregnant, this time, for 27 weeks so far. In case you didn't know, a woman is typically with child for 40 weeks. 40 weeks. That's 40 weeks. 40 weeks of hard-ass work.
I have a 5-year old, Madison, the most beautiful and fearless human being that ever lived that anyone would love to have 2 of. What happens after you have one is that after a while you forget what it was like to carry that baby around in your body for, oh, I don't know, about 40 weeks and then give birth to that baby, and then attach that same baby to your engorged boob for however long you can take it, and then explain to that same baby why you would really prefer to use the bathroom alone and would she please stop crawling up your legs.
We forget all that and in a moment of weakness, usually induced by consumption of copious amounts of tequila, we go ahead and make another baby.
It started with the morning, I mean, all-day sickness. Along with that came the "I've hit a brick wall" fatigue. There's also the gas and the heartburn. These are all things that I remembered from my first pregnancy. This time though, this time, something is different. Something in my brain snapped. My husband heard it, it left a huge ass red mark on the side of his head.
Up until this past month I avoided all public situations and anyone that wasn't my daughter, my brother or my mother. I did this to keep the public safe. I did this to keep myself out of jail and the good patron's of Bell's Nursery on Specking out of a hostage situation.
When I was only a little pregnant and didn't realize the transformation that my hormones were under (even though my husband kept showing me the red mark on his head) I went out in...public...with my mother. She wanted to take me to the nursery to shop for some flowers at the beginning of summer. As she was roaming through the aisles and I had to stand at the outskirts to guard the cart I found myself imagining doing terrible things. Terrible things to that bitch that no matter where I go she has to step in front of me or trip over my cart and then act like I'm in her way. Terrible things to the lady who asked no less than 17 times if the cashier was sure that "these are gonna bloom in purple, like the picture". I mainly wanted to just pick up random flats of flowers and throw them at random strangers. I wondered to myself what my mom would do if I began this rampage.
She would leave and act like she didn't know me. I asked her.
After that Sunday afternoon I didn't go back out in public or talk to my in-laws until just a few weeks ago.
You're welcome.
I have a 5-year old, Madison, the most beautiful and fearless human being that ever lived that anyone would love to have 2 of. What happens after you have one is that after a while you forget what it was like to carry that baby around in your body for, oh, I don't know, about 40 weeks and then give birth to that baby, and then attach that same baby to your engorged boob for however long you can take it, and then explain to that same baby why you would really prefer to use the bathroom alone and would she please stop crawling up your legs.
We forget all that and in a moment of weakness, usually induced by consumption of copious amounts of tequila, we go ahead and make another baby.
It started with the morning, I mean, all-day sickness. Along with that came the "I've hit a brick wall" fatigue. There's also the gas and the heartburn. These are all things that I remembered from my first pregnancy. This time though, this time, something is different. Something in my brain snapped. My husband heard it, it left a huge ass red mark on the side of his head.
Up until this past month I avoided all public situations and anyone that wasn't my daughter, my brother or my mother. I did this to keep the public safe. I did this to keep myself out of jail and the good patron's of Bell's Nursery on Specking out of a hostage situation.
When I was only a little pregnant and didn't realize the transformation that my hormones were under (even though my husband kept showing me the red mark on his head) I went out in...public...with my mother. She wanted to take me to the nursery to shop for some flowers at the beginning of summer. As she was roaming through the aisles and I had to stand at the outskirts to guard the cart I found myself imagining doing terrible things. Terrible things to that bitch that no matter where I go she has to step in front of me or trip over my cart and then act like I'm in her way. Terrible things to the lady who asked no less than 17 times if the cashier was sure that "these are gonna bloom in purple, like the picture". I mainly wanted to just pick up random flats of flowers and throw them at random strangers. I wondered to myself what my mom would do if I began this rampage.
She would leave and act like she didn't know me. I asked her.
After that Sunday afternoon I didn't go back out in public or talk to my in-laws until just a few weeks ago.
You're welcome.
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I love it when you say things to me that reinforce me positively. So...carry on then, do that thing. Lastly, capital hat!