I get these weekly emails from Babycenter.com that tell me what’s going on with the fetus and how big she is in relation to a fruit or vegetable. I really like learning about when she grows eyelashes and fingernails and what are big milestone weeks for her- but the rest of the email is divided into a few less helpful sections, the last of which is called ‘Belly Laughs.’ Here was today’s edition:
If only you’d known you were going to trade…
• Monthly PMS for nine months of weeping
• Lacy thongs for cotton tents
• Sex for gas
• Zinfandel for Ovaltine
• Birth control for laxatives
• Going to the gym for getting up to pee
• Your waist for a hot-air balloon
• Kickboxing for kick counts
• Your innie for an outie — a way-outie
• Sleeping for groaning
• Freedom for the most intense love you’ve ever known
WTF? If I weren’t already knocked up, reading that would make me totally depressed! Theres a whole category of super whiny pregnancy stuff on the market that I guess is supposed to be funny; but probably only to people that buy those tiny “books” they sell at the cash register at Borders like, “100 reasons my cat is better than a boyfriend.”
Being pregnant is awesome! Yes, there are emotional days, which are totally normal given the hormone storm that occurs to bring your little miracle to this earth but the moods seem as temporary as a toddler’s own tantrums and are usually soothed by a nap, a snack, or a cuddle.
Lacy thongs? Who I look like? I guess if I wore those things I still would- but I didn’t so I just wear the same underwear I have always worn.
Sex for gas? Nope. Having more sex than ever. Okay, having more gas too – but my husband and I are going to have a CHILD together it’s not like he is in one corner of the room holding his nose with one hand while pointing at me asking, “WHO CUT ONE?”
White Zinfindel? Again, who I look like? Some Olive Garden-loving, Corolla-driving, bad highlights from the Lemon Tree nightmare? No. I haven’t given up (good) wine for Ovaltine. Sorry, puritanical America! Do some research on this first.
Birth control for laxatives? Wait what? Birth control would have meant *not* getting pregnant and laxatives aren’t safe when you’re with child. Doy-oy-oy!
Waistline for a hot air balloon? Psst- it’s not hot air. There’s a BABY in there.
Sleeping for groaning? Girl, I wrap my arms and legs around that Snoozer, Mike wraps his arms around me, and off I go on a 10 hour wondertrip to Sleepville Heights, population: me.
Ugh. Sorry. I just hate all that downer crap. What’s the point of bitching about how pregnancy is a pain? It doesn’t help or solve anything, it puts you in a bad headspace and makes you look like a weak, whiny and selfish cow.
Not to sound all yoga teacher but: Celebrate your sexy bump and the new life that awaits you!
(And yes- I have mentioned that I am NOT looking forward to my bellybuton popping out but that is what maximum strength band-aids are for. Also? It goes back- so no big whoop in the end)