Bent Words

Bent Words

December 21, 2011

I'm certain that there are women out there who actually desire children and therefore appreciate every little nuance of pregnancy. I am not one of those women.

I have not laid awake at night, on any night, hoping and praying to pass down the Johnson legacy. Nor have I really wondered what a little me would be like. I already know what a little me would be like based on my baby photos -- bald and bulky with big ears. Not pretty. And certainly not equivilant to a puppy which are usually so cute they make one want to keep it for an extended period of time.

Not that I'm going to give up my child if it's not cute but this little m'er f'er better be pretty spectacularly adorable.

And quiet.

Aside from the fact that I didn't really (i.e. at all) want kids in the first place, this pregnancy thing pretty much (i.e. totally) sucks balls.

And while I obviously hate to be negative, I do have to call a spade a spade (thrust deeply into my lower back).

It just seems as though pretty much everything pisses me off these days.

Making a placenta AND a baby is so exhausting that by mid-afternoon, my eyes are literally rolling back into the dark portion of my head in an eager attempt to retreat from all forms of consiousness. It's kinda like being REALLY hung over. A night where you're out all night and have had only an hour and a half of sleep before work. But without the fun of friends and liquor and with the reprocussion of puke.

Speaking of liquor, I hate everyone who drinks in front of me and/or has the astounding scent of liquor on their breath. You all suck. I. HATE. YOU.

And speaking of puke, I've been relatively lucky on that note, save for the times when I haven't been, and get the pleasure of ferociously hurling all my cookies into the toilet. Especially when it's the spicy shit that comes back up. Feels great going in. Not so much coming back out in a violent display of projectile RAAAAAAHHHHH!

When I'm hungry, I have to eat. There is no "hold on" or "wait until I get home" or "we'll grab something in a minute" or "the pizza will be here in an hour." These are all unacceptable frames of time reference. NOW is the only time when I want to eat. Just feed me. Right freakin' now. Feed now, think later.

On that note, food restrictions are about the epitomy of what can and will and has pissed me off.

No deli meat or salad. What?! Subs so fast you'll freak are right out. Hot dogs, which I have been stupidly craving, and I are not to be. Sushi... Well I've never even had sushi but I'm fuck you angry when anyone tells me that I can't have something. Let's not get into the whole soda/beer thing.

This body of mine was not made for child bearing. Not to mention that I don't even have hips, I am also extremely stuborn, ridiculously selfish and chock full of vices. I have cats because I feel that being responsible for another life form beside myself should be a less than part-time gig. If you cannot generally fend for yourself, you probably shouldn't be alive. Under my roof anyway.

How am I ever going to get into "Mom Mode?"

Well, it'll probably be pretty easy once I'm fat with even bigger feet and thinning gray hair and a lacking sex drive. Who wants to live beyond the walls of their home with all THAT crap to look forward to?!

I'll have HIPS.

I've seen what other women with hips do. They get really big asses to fill in the new hip width. I'll be fat with a butt wider than my shoulders and skis for feet. I'll look like a female Big Foot.

And now you have just witnessed the rage portion of my pregnancy...

I have two modes of emotion.

Rage and tears.

"You're going to bed ALREADY?!" asks Kevin.


Snore while I'm trying to get a few moments of already broken sleep?


Tell me the story about Dakota the owl who was stolen from his cage at the Wildlife Rescue Center?


For weeks.

I even have his picture as the background on my laptop.

Tell me I missed a step of completing a task at work?

Tears. Instant tears.

I'm just a big ball of uncontrollable emotions.

But I hear it's all worth it in the end.

(And lemme tell you, it damn well better be. Because I'm not at all ashamed of possibly trading in this little life sucker for a nice new Honda motorcycle if I have to...)

All baby bashing aside, I'm sure I'll be just fine. And I'm sure I'll love the snot out of Ziggy once he/she gets here.

It just seems reasonable to me that society should be able to, by now, come up with a way to host a growing fetus outside the human body so that one is not required to push said fetus out of said human body.

Anything less seems cruel and entirely unusual.

I'm just saying...

Written at 6:40 p.m.