Monday, January 27, 2014

Only 9 Months...

Being pregnant means...

You will be surrounded by people who will tell you how best to do your "job". Humor them the same way you would any other know-it-all-asshole in an actual work setting.

If you dare complain about morning sickness, mood swings, anything pregnancy related- distraught bitches will hop up onto their soap boxes and try to make you feel ungrateful. This is common among meddlesome, jealous twats who need to find something else to do. Tell them to kiss your plump pregnant ass and move it along.

It is okay to feel like you are the only woman who has ever gone through pregnancy. That you are the first woman to ever give birth and should be treated as such. You are entitled to those feelings. You are entitled to that treatment. Whether you are the first or the 999 billionth- you are growing a person inside of your body. This makes you fucking rock star.

You gain weight, you become soft and round and beautiful. If the weight gain is an issue for you- be sure not confuse nourishment for two with meals for two.

Reserves of patience, compassion, and strength that you never even knew existed will be tapped. You will understand what it means to go, when you didn't think you could go anymore.

You will lead a different life. DIFFERENT, not better. Do not climb onto that wagon of yenta's who find their lives to be better and more full filling than those without children.

Just be pregnant. Be mean, be happy, piss your pants, sprout hemorrhoids, give advice, take advice, feel your baby move and body change. Revel in it. Have great sex and huge orgasms. It's only 9 months, fleeting in the bigger picture.
 

 
 30 weeks. See you soon, Charlee Girl.









 

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Sometimes, we have those days.

Sometimes I feel as though I spend all of my day yelling. That no matter what my offspring does, he is not acting right. That he is not listening, that he will not be quiet for two minutes, he won't pick up his room, he is spilling his drink, he is not moving fast enough, on & on & on. It becomes one thing after the other and my patience has no time to replenish. When I reflect back on those days, as I am having a more calm day, I pick it apart. Did I yell at him because he would not shush it for 10 minutes, or because I needed him to shush it for 10 minutes? Did I yell at him for spilling that drink, or did I yell at him because I was sick of cleaning that day? The awful thing is that all of those answers are more about me, less about him- yet he catches the heat. Those are the days when I am selfish and making it all about me, all about what I need, want, or do not want. When he is simply being a four year old. He goes to bed every night at 8 pm, no hassle. Though on a night when Girth and I are prepped to watch a movie that we are excited for, or when I am carpet crawling because I want to get it on- our kid fights going to bed like it's his job. You know what I do? I take it personally. Irrational...ridiculous...absolutely. I am irate though, because of course he is fighting bedtime because there are things that I want to do. No sense, only selfishness on my part. To separate these feelings though is quite possibly one of the most difficult things for me to do. To base my reaction off what has simply occurred, rather than how I feel about what has occurred. Perspective. When he asks me to fix his car for the hundredth time, and I am losing my shit...how big of a deal is it? To me, it is nothing but the turn of a wheel. To him, it is a crisis. His car won't work right. It's his car, he is four. This is the equivalent of my car not working right, at just about thirty-four. And because we have managed to raise an insanely compassionate loving child, he would fix my car for me in a  second if he could, with no qualms. Yet I show agitation spinning the wheel on his ride, or I just refuse to do it anymore. What I want to do is keep him free from stress and anger, yet sometimes I feed it, or become the source. Learning to deem his problems for as real as he sees them is a task, but crucial to his development in how he will help others deal with theirs now, and as an adult. I really need to get consistently on board. Sometimes I wonder who teaches who in this house.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Sassy deep voice.

When I take a shower, I am actually still just sitting in the bathtub. Always done it, love it. So, I am showering the other day and in pops Girth. This never happens, you know...because we are married. So I am sitting there, and he is standing there washing his hot bod. I being the poster child for pregnancy piggishness, immediately want to partake in sexual activity. Except when I turn around, because he was actually going to receive  a beej...he peed on me. I begin scrambling around in the bottom of the bathtub, while he towers over me unleashing his bladder upon me laughing like a psychopath. If I was into Golden Showers, this would be cool- but I am not. And, he doesn't know it yet, but he done fuckedddddd upppp (insert sassy deep voice for effect). I asked him how he could just pee on me while I was sitting there, relaxing, letting the water hit me looking all naked and beautiful. He replies:

 
"You mean like a fat mermaid?"


Oh. Alright, alright. We can play that game. I inform him of how he just lost out on a filthy shower Blow J.
Terror filled his eyes.

Followed by sadness.
Then by hope.

Now he's coming at me with a boner, and I'm like- NO. And shoved the plastic Cinderella hair rinsing cup over his cock & balls, making a cool suction noise, and it stuck there.
"You got a princess on yo' dickkkkk!!!!" (deep sassy voice again). He didn't get one either. I am the keeper of the beej and what I say goes. Hopefully he chalks this up as a lesson learned & keeps his stream in check.


One other thought...I think for Girth on V-day I shall get my vag waxed into a heart, dye it red, and shoot hershey kisses out of her like a cannon. Sounds cool, right? Don't anyone steal my plans now, ya hear!
 

Monday, January 13, 2014

The home stretch.

       I can no longer see my vagina. I can locate it- due to 33 years of working memory, but I cannot see it. This makes me wish I was some sort of magician, that when handed a paintbrush I could still paint a beautiful landscape while blindfolded. Alas, I am but a mere commoner who made a bad call in the muffin department. I decided to just wax that floor bare, considering there would be no straight lines made anyway. So away it all goes. I'm not a fan of this look in the first place, but I can't see it anyway, so fuck it. Girth was alarmed- to say the least. I think that a bald vagina, my bald chicken anyway, while pregnant is not a sight to behold. Bald on me is less Vin Diesel, more Uncle Fester....if you catch my drift.  

       My ethnic nipples appear to be melting. Ethnic, because they are insanely dark right now. They will go back to normal, at least they did after Riot. We'll see this time. Melting, well, this also happened with Riot, but it is just strange. The bottom of my nips have lines...like a freckle pattern that curve to the underside. Looks like my nipples are melting right off.

       I have carpal tunnel in both hands. The baby is also positioned comfortably on my sciatic nerve. Gives me a really great ass cramp/leg cramp. This baby is not nice to me.

       Girth has gained almost 10 pounds, had bouts of acne, and had morning sickness in the beginning. Weight gain aside- I'm clear of the other symptoms...Girth has really taken some for the team.  

Hello 3rd trimester.
 
 
No photo for you. I am too bitter about not being able to take a selfie because my camera is broken.

 

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Nailed It...

I just had Girth home on vacation for over 10 days. It was glorious- the complete opposite of what I had anticipated. We laughed, we had fun, we raged between the sheets. Movies and snacks and staying up late...we were super best friends again. He made me breakfast and lunch almost every day, he let me sleep in, he even cuddled me with all of my farts. Obviously our offspring was a  part of the fun, he always is. He generally monopolizes it. That is where our attention is focused in between work and school and life in general. It goes without saying. This time though, our attention was on each other- and we needed it. I sneakily flashed him running from room to room, made absolutely disgusting jokes and comments- one so repulsive that I am not even going to share it. I laughed at myself for about 10 minutes before I could even get the sentence out to him...laughed so hard I pissed in my pants, couldn't breathe and my lips went numb. Through his pity, he also laughed...when the sentence finally left my lips...he looked both horrified and disgusted. Two thousand thirteen had a lot of shit in it, a lot of change, a lot of stress, a lot of everything. Then we ended it by falling in love again. We didn't do resolutions, because we don't keep them. We do what we want when the time comes, we go with the flow. We only expect to be better than we were the year before. Personally, I have entered 2014 as a college graduate with a double chin, a huge fetus riding shotty on my vag, a frigging beautifully charming four year old son who thinks he is a man, and a loving husband packing a mean kielbasa. As far as I am concerned- we already have this new year by the nuts...