Where is My Rent, Fetus?!
I’m pretty sure we all at one time or another had one of those dreadful neighbors. You know what I’m talking about. The ones who don’t care its three in the morning, they are going to make sure you know the benefits to the Bosley method by graciously allowing their TV volume to reach max level. Then once their television viewing experience comes to an end they start with the bumps in the night. Of course, bumps in the night grows to something resembling an elephant walking on the walls.
Or the gems of the neighborhood whose front lawns are so inviting with knee-high grass, stolen Big Wheelers, naked Barbies, and the Santa on the roof that looks like he’s had one too many by the tilt on his stance.
Got a good visual?
Well that’s what my pregnancy was like. Parties all hours of the night, punched holes in walls, and a grotesque appearance; and that was all inside my uterus.
It took only two days since we went heels to Jesus, till I figured out I was in deep. And by deep I mean the next 19 years of my life will be trying to keep another human being alive. I was pregnant. Like really pregnant. All those anxious baby loving freaks had jinxed us. I cried. I don’t know why. It wasn’t really a sad cry, closer to a happy cry. Hell, it was probably just the hormones. I used to cry when the pickle jar was empty, every new stretch mark and don’t get me started on those damn ASPCA commercials. Sarah McLachlan is on my hit list for that one.
I was miserable. Morning sickness turned into evening sickness turned into after dinner till you wake back up sickness. My ankles swelled, I damned my husband, and I damned him a lot. I would feel a strong kick to my bladder, which would make me pee a little, I would curse the creature residing in my who ha. I was always damning and cursing but always with a smile. I was genuinely happy. The erratic, bomb shell of a girl was actually transforming into a rational, level minded woman. An in control, got a grip, whale of a woman. I had never been a very stable person but you give me some added estrogen and I turn into freakin’ Gandhi with boobs. Maybe the Greeks were onto something with their hysteria theory, because even Dave and I’s relationship went from a wooden roller coaster to a luxury cruise ship.
Nine long tiring months went by and I was ready to perform my own c-section; I wasn’t allowed within five feet of a butter knife. I had enough. I was fat, tired, and was sick of being beat up from the inside out by my inconsiderate tenant But when that nasty little body slid herself out from under the white privacy sheet, all the resentment and fabricated arguments between us were forgotten. They laid her on my chest and I got to look into those beautiful bright eyes and could already see she was going to be even more of a
hell raiser gift than I thought.The perfect combination of my husband and I; she was better than I could imagine. I’m not going to lie and tell you it was love at first sight because it wasn’t. It wasn’t till later that night when I woke up, everything in the hospital was silent, and I looked over at the crib. There she was already laying on her side, just staring in my direction. That simple moment was when I finally understood what every mother warned me about. I had fallen so head over heels that I felt complete.
TIP # 1. Don’t ever look into your infants eyes, they are not as innocent as they seem. Keep your distance or you too might turn into an easy manipulated puddle of mush.
Yes I’m on to you babies.