OK karma, I deserved that

So, I've been whining a lot. Whining about being pregnant. Whining about being big and round and oh so very hefty. "Poor me. I'm so big! People make rude comments." Blah, blah, blah. If you've been reading, you don't need a recap.

Well, karma busted my ass this week. It was all, "Look here you whiny procreating machine. If you're so sick of being a big mammoth whale, let me throw a little something else at ya and let's see how you like it." And so it went.

Karma served me up a big plate of food poisoning. And yes, after 12 hours of extreme projectile body fluids, I lost 12 pounds. Karma can be a real pain in the bootay if you know what I mean. "There oh pregnant one! You wanted to be a little lighter and now you've got it!"

What karma failed to realize is that I imagine most of that 12 pounds was water weight, seeing as how I was in a major state of dehydration. I'm pretty sure by the 11th hour I was barfing up actual amniotic fluid because I'm not sure there could be any other explanation.
Nothing a short stint in the hospital for some I.V.'age wouldn't fix, but major dehydration none-the-less. I thought they were going to have to saw one of my legs off to find an actual vein to tap into. Either my veins were so shriveled that they couldn't find one, or 3 evil nurses just got a kick out of repeatedly taking turns sticking me with a needle. Luckily I was hallucinating by that time, something about leprechauns doing gymnastics, so I was cool either way.

Anyway, it's good to be back- water weight and all. Point taken karma... point taken.

Look people

Look people- do you frequently tell strangers how fat they are? Recoil in their sheer size and scrutinize them with evil eyes? All I'm saying is common courtesy here. So why do it to a pregnant person? I'm not the smallest pregnant person I've ever seen. But I'm also not the biggest. I'm in the middle ok. I'm not bed-bound, draped in rolls of fat and unable to stroll around on huge cankles.

So tell me, readers. Why is it that the entire world has an opinion on one's size when they are with child? Do they suddenly think a women, contrary to the rest of her entire life, wants to all of a sudden start hearing about her enormity? Like suddenly that is acceptable? And not only acceptable, but that pregnant women everywhere are in fact SUPER eager to hear it? Just this past weekend I was at a wedding and an older woman asked me when I was due. I cringed to myself (as I am now forced to do, knowing that some kind of judgement is coming) and told her. You would have thought I said, "actually I had sex with a demon alien and the 6 critters living in my womb will burrow out of my flesh in about 3 more weeks," when in actuality I said, "November 12th." Her face recoiled in disgust. She looked aghast. She said "are they sure? You're BIG!" When I tried the let's laugh this off approach she pressed on. "Are they sure it isn't twins?" she asked, with her still twisted up face. "YES BEE-OCH! It's not twins! Don't you think I would have told you that the first time you called me a mammoth whale! It's not twins ok! Kate Hudson gained 80 pounds and I'm at half that with 11 weeks to go OK!"

I've gotten to where I actually HATE telling people when I'm due. Because sure enough, everyone I meet has some smart ass remark. And honestly I don't think- you know, for a pregnant person and all- I'm really all that off the mark here. I'll post some pics in the next post and let you be the judge (and then verbally abuse me like the rest of the world)

These are just SOME of the endearing responses I've gotten from people:

"Really? Is that all the further along you are?"
"My gosh, you are HUGE!"
"Wow, do you have twins in there?" ---- "Are they sure!?!"
"Oh my gosh, how much have you gained?"
"Really? Are you measuring big? Is your doctor concerned?"
"Was your last baby really big?"
"Well in my day we used to only gain about 15 pounds."
"Are you just craving everything in sight?"

So please, dear readers. Just get it out of your system. I'd like you to please post a clever, snarky little remark that you'd say to a huge pregnant lady to imply she is larger than a wooly mammoth. Honestly, I know you aren't necessarily gearing it toward me, but maybe if you post it now, I can prepare for it when some old lady stops me on my next trip to Hobby Lobby.
Cheers!

Cornfed

I know what you're all thinking. Iowa. Bunch of farmers and hicks and pigs and overalls and corn. And-- well, we do have some of that I'll grant you. But you want to know what else we have? Ok, besides the Iowa State Fair's buttercow andn tractor dancing I mean.

Shawn Johnson and Lolo Jones! That's right- both are natives of dear Des Moines! I mean Shawn goes to public high school and shops for prom dresses and stuff. I could literally be chowing my way through a pasta dish at the Cheesecake Factory and just bump into her adorable smiling little self.

Cool huh? Guess

On a brighter note

Today my homeslice Jamie says while pointing me toward the Chinese lunch buffet, "You go first, you're the pregnant one." I take her up on it and realize, maybe there is a bright spot to be pregnant? Maybe this whole, I'm so huge and fat and miserable and sick of being sick thing is getting old? Maybe my blog shouldn't read like a cautionary tale for birth control?

So, I've scrounged up (clawed my way actually) to ten positives of carrying a womb inhabitant.

1) Your friends let you go first in the China buffet line, even when it means you are totally wiping out the tray of Lo Mein.

2) Strangers hold doors for you (except the A-holes, they still don't... stupid A-holes. It's just common courtesy even if a woman is not pregnant, to not let a huge glass door slam her in the face. A-holes).

3) When you're husband is nagging you about cleaning house, or doing any other menial domestic chores, you can blame it on your sore back, swollen feet and the blood pooling in your legs causing unsightly varicose veins if you don't immediately put your feet up.

4) Food. Let's face it. Most people aren't judging you for the mass quantity of food you are eating, or the rare occasions where you eat a frozen burrito and a Butterfinger for breakfast. And if they are stupid enough to judge you, then you just sit on them.

5) Your husband is repulsed by your giantess figure and never bothers you for sex anymore. Sure, it may be the one time you actually want it, but score one for women nonetheless.

6) You have a built in shelf. Eat your heart out TV tray! I don't need you anymore coffee table! I have a handy, albeit slightly roundish, shelf at my disposal 24/7.

6) The crazy stomach spasms. I mean, 9 months of pregnancy is about 8 months too long. But, if there is one thing I just couldn't pass up, it would be feeling my baby move and watching my stomach do all sorts of crazy, jerky movements as my inhabitant practices their apparent gymnastics routine for the 2024 Olympics. Go baby go!! It kind of freaks my non-mother friends out. Homeslice always scrunches her nose up and says, "doesn't that freak you out?" as she turns away. But, it's my favorite thing, nonetheless!

OK, six. I can only think of six good things people. But that's worth something, right? Hope you enjoy them, it's back to bitchin' about this stuff tomorrow!

Just for the record

Just for the record,I haven't completely given up on all vanity. Take Monday for instance. We have a very busy week at work, lots of running around, being on our feet, and meeting with tons and tons of new people. So, naturally, I spiffed it up. I wore one of my cute maternity dresses, even threw in some earrings (rare for me) and of course, broke out the adorable strappy sandal heels. Lookin' cute, right? But man, if you wanna hear a pregnant lady bitch, throw her in some pointy toed torture devices and make her walk 8 miles. I was a bit crabby by the end of the day you could say. Have YOU ever had a charlie horse in the middle of your foot??? It's possible... let me tell ya...

So fast forward to Tuesday. I wore yet another cute shoe/dress combo- albeit a little lower heel. And wouldn't you know, I still had something to bitch about at the end of the day. Turns out when you are carrying an extra 40 pounds around it doesn't take much to make those dogs scream!

So this morning--- what will I wear you ask? Oh... it's.... the tragedy. You don't really want to know...

Enter Dr. Scholl's basic black show... barf I know. This is as close a picture as I could get to my own pair. I'm not proud of this people. But you have to understand- charlie horses in the foot people! Immense pain people! And it's not like I had Rodeo Drive at my fingertips for my shopping pleasure. I have a Walmart and Target within last minute -save-me-now driving distance.

So there you have it... it's a dark dark day.

I desparately need...

An intervention. An ass-intervention to be specific. I mean, I get that of course my normal clothes would seize to fit. Then my bras. Then my underwear. But now, NOW, it's my maternity clothes. My MATERNITY clothes! And you wanna know what the problem is? My huge pregnant ASS! I usually try to refrain from the foul language and all, but you cannot fully comprehend this physique with mention of a mere "buttocks," "rump" or "behind." Unless plaid makes things 8 times larger than normal size, then I have determined (with affirmation from the very man who did this thing to me) that indeed, my ass is the size of a 1970's era Buick. We're talking big folks. The only relief in coming to terms with that fact, is that I can quit blaming the cute, patchy plaid Bermuda-style maternity shorts that I dropped $35 dollars on. I was all ready to set fire to them, which was sort of sad since I lost sleep for 3 nights over them, stewing about spending $35 on casual shorts when 95% of my life is spent in "business attire." But man, the 3 times I got to wear them this summer they did look really cute!

So now what you ask? I don't know to be honest... Try to wretch that burrito out of my hand and I'll snap your arm off and slap you across the face with it. Maybe I should try on the ol' exercise routine again. Course at this point I can barely waddle across the house for another Dilly bar... so we'll see how that goes.

And yes... I do in fact still ahve 3 months to go.

So now we're the white trash neighbors

On a sunny afternoon last March we moved into a new house. Bigger house, better neighborhood. We were happy. Shortly after, me, the husband and the adorable 2-year old made the rounds to the new neighbors. We brought with us a beuatiful plate of perfectly-frosted Easter cookies to each new neighbor. We said our hellos, the daughter was charming and that was that. Make good first impression on new neighbors- CHECK.

Fast forward a year and a half. It's a muggy day in late July. It's hot and my makeup melted off my face 4 hours ago. We haven't mowed in a week and a half because it's been raining so much- so naturally our yard looks like a rainforest. We've just finished dinner- spaghetti. So, naturally, my little bundle of cuteness has sauce all over her face- which alone is not quite white-trash enough because oh- I had the foresight to take her shirt off before the meal. So now she is a SHIRTLESS kid with spaghetti on her face. The doorbell rings. My husband answers the door. My daughter runs after him. And lo' and behold one of the neighbors has chosen TODAY to bring us a plate of cookies. My shirtless, orange-stained daughter is excited and yelling "cookies, mommy, cookies!" As if we- us- the hick house- ain't never seen such a thing as a plate of cookies. I waddle my huge self- my huge pregnant self- my huge barefoot and pregnant self to the door- to say thank you as daddy is telling our little Sugar Monger in front of said neighbor, "No honey, it's too late for a cookie, it's almost bedtime. We'll have one for breakfast, ok!"

So, there you go. We're the white trash, shirtless stained-faced kid, weedy yarded, let's eat cookies for breakfast and be pregnant all at the same time, family. And proud of it if you ask me!