Pregnant Women Don't Fart Glitter

The Onset

So, I just found out that I’m pregnant.

Actually, I found out a few weeks ago.

Ok, really, it’s been about a month… and a half.

But this is the downside… I’m still freaking out. It’s actually getting worse as I get deeper into this, and no, it's not just because my clothes aren't fitting right anymore. It’s a weird kind of panic, though. It’s the kind that builds slowly, starting out as a few extra twitches in my fingers, ramping up to some bad dreams, and then finally bursting out in a screaming, sobbing breakdown in traffic.

The people who saw me probably thought I was listening to death metal.

I can blame hormones for this. And I could get away with it (I am pregnant, after all). I won’t though. At this point, I’m actually trying really hard not to blame anything on being pregnant, which gets kind of difficult when you’re puking without a hangover.

I know it sounds weird (it sounds even weirder now that I’ve articulated it) but I think it’s my way of maintaining a little bit of denial. So yes, freaking out, in denial me has had her first sonogram, seen the first images a tiny, human-ish thing bouncing around, and heard a heartbeat. Actually, before I go any farther, let me give you some warnings.

No, I am NOT a Glitter-Filled Unicorn Pissing Rainbows

This is not going to be a happy, ethereal, inspiring pregnancy blog. If you want that, you’re SOL. Mostly because I am not an ethereal, inspiring person (I am generally happy... just not now).

No, this will be the blog of a terrified, stressed-out pregnant woman with migraines and acne who now cries at the video of a raccoon being hurled across the chimpanzee enclosure. (Have you seen that? That’s some messed up shit.)

You might think, and understandably so, that I would be thrilled about the baby! Happy, yes of course. Thrilled? Not so much. Terrified is a much more accurate adjective in this particular instance. Now, of course, I’m happy(ish) about the baby (I quit smoking, didn’t I?) but for the moment, I’m just trying to deal. No first-time moms that I know of have done this while farting fucking glitter, and I’ll be damned if that’s what I try to do.

Back to Baby

Now that we've established that, let me tell you a little more about this whole thing. You may have guessed by this point that the baby wasn't planned. Which would make a lot of sense, if it was accurate. So it's slightly hilarious that we were sort of trying for one. I just had the whole "it'll never happen to me" mentality going on.

Yep. I'm that dumbass.

I'll tell you though, trying to make it though all of this is a little nuts. Have you looked at the research out there? Breastfeeding, sleep schedules, delivery room etiquette (that'll never happen), toys, cribs, solid food, cloth diapers, disposables, paper or plastic, butter or jam!!!!! And that's just the crap that's going on the second the baby pops out!!! 

I really couldn't care less about what the breastfeeding techniques are in Mongolia, but I still know all about them! Of course, I also know that snails have the fastest sex of any animal and that frogs swallow with their eyeballs, so I can't complain too much about cramming something else in there. Who needs algebra, anyway? 

So, you're probably thinking, what the hell does this have to do with having a freak out? Let me tell you...

EVERYTHING

Freak Out!

There's too much. I already gave up drinking, smoking, caffeine, sushi, green tea, and baths. That's not enough. I still need to watch my weight (as it goes up... and up), decide how I'm going to give birth, how I'm going to raise said child, be touched by everyone who sees me (which is so, so not OK) but I also get to be judged by everyone no matter how I try to do it.

So yes.

I freaked out. 

And I will continue freaking out. I may try to keep it private, but that's not healthy either (apparently). So here I am, releasing it into the nothingness of the Land of Internets and Cats.

Seriously, how did you find this? Why are you still reading?

This is my therapy. It may keep me from committing some fairly heinous crimes. And if it doesn't... well, you'll be the first to know.