· Pregnant women are MEAN
· Pregnant women are very emotional (kinda ties in with the first)
· Pregnant women like to talk nonstop about things that would typically be very personal and off the table, but since they are pregnant, it is not up for open discussion.
· Lastly, pregnant women kinda make me miss the idea of having a big family.
I’ll try to discuss them one by one. And here goes with the first…
I remember what I was like as a pregnant person. Not so bad with Micheal, I kept an easygoing attitude and for the most part I sat back and tried not to bother anyone. I listened to all the advice. I didn’t get angry at times that I probably should have. I was a wimp, mostly because I was scared out of my mind about what to expect (I had also been told that I had cancer not long after I found out that I was pregnant, so that probably had a whole lot to do with that). The only thing that I ever remember doing always had to do with the doctor’s office. You see, the doctor that told me I had cancer, ran many different tests on me, didn’t tell me that there was the possibility of miscarrying, and didn’t tell me that I would likely go to the emergency room later, and then didn’t even bother to come check on me while I spent the night in the hospital. I cussed him to high heaven and informed him that I wanted another doctor on my next visit. The midwife was who I chose to see… Main reason being that the other doctor was soooooo cute that the last place I wanted him was “down there”. Well, the midwife was not even safe with me. I had a particularly moody day and I began to feel like she was talking down to me (this combined with the fact that I had started having a lot of pain and a few complications) and I screamed at her until I couldn’t remember why I was screaming.
The second time around, when I was pregnant with Kyle, it was on. I was sick before I knew I was pregnant. I had migraines so bad that my eyesight would come and go, I couldn’t stop puking for more than 15 minutes at a time, and I had to keep up with a toddler. I was moody, I was cranky, and I was a vengeful bitch. The babysitter didn’t give Micheal what I considered to be proper care one day. I refused to pay her, told her how awful she was, and that I hoped her kids grew up to hate her. Why I said that, I don’t know. I wouldn’t really wish it on anybody. The doctor didn’t catch it this time around, but the poor students did. That’s right, I was at a teaching hospital! I hated students. They acted like they couldn’t answer a question when this was obviously what they were in school for. I think the worst though was the poor people in drive-thrus. Lord help them if they didn’t get my order right. I questioned their education, their competency, and their future.
I remember one girl in particular that worked at one of the Walmart Subways. I LOVED me some Subway hotdogs. Not sure if they carry them at all Subways or just the Walmart ones, but OMG they are amazing to a fat preggo. I was out shopping with my neighbor and I wanted a hotdog. I walked up front to get one, and I guess I was either taking too long or she sensed that this poor girl was about to get verbally abused because my neighbor came to find me right in the middle of ripping this girl a new ass. She couldn’t fix me a hotdog? What do you mean you can’t fix a hotdog? Are you too stupid to fix a hotdog? Here, I can help you. You don’t even have to turn the fancy machine on, just stick the damn thing in the microwave for 30 seconds. Are you too stupid to do that? I guess the education system up here didn’t prepare you for that, huh? You probably didn’t even make it past elementary school, who am I kidding. I mean really, what kind of person can’t make a hotdog?
Yes, that is how that speech worked. And yes, karma bit me in the ass for it, many times.
Okay, next up… I really don’t want to hear about gas, rhoids, swelling, your new favorite sexual position (come at me when you aren’t preggo and I can give you some really dirty things to try!), or anything else that you should probably talk to your doctor about but you’re assuming that since I birthed my two boys that I may be open for consulting with. Honey, I’ll tell you, I’ve been there, had a hellacious time, and I don’t wanna go back!
That last paragraph would make you think that I don’t want more kids. That’s not necessarily true. You see, both of my parents were the youngest of five. I am also the youngest of five. When the ex and I first got married, we agreed that we wanted a big family. Apparently, he agreed just to shut me up. After I had kid number two, he quickly went to get neutered. Probably did the world a favor there because uh, I have his best work and they drive me crazy daily.
Well, after the divorce I found out that there is the possibility of me not being able to have more little spawn of my own. I jumped for joy and then cried for weeks. Remember that I said possibility, it hasn’t been proven and without a reason, I’m not gonna try to prove it one way or the other. But every single time I go shopping and see the little baby section, I want a baby to hold and play with. Every time I see a pregnant woman, I remember how excited I was while waiting to meet the little boogers. I remember what it was like to bring them home. I remember everything, and I can’t believe that I may never experience that again… Evil parts and all.
Honestly, when it boils down to it, I can’t decide if I’d want another… I love my boys, and I love being done with diapers, midnight feedings, breast pumps, and my boobs always feeling like they were ten times heavier than the rest of my body, and too much time around the expecting women and I’m afraid that I might try to go find out if it is at all possible to have one more.
Well, time to step away… Thanks for reading if you made it this far!