To The: Pregnant Edition

It's been SO LONG since I've done a "To The" post, I almost forgot that this was even a "thing" around here for a while.

I hate to have everything I blog lately be baby-/pregnancy-related, but can you blame me? This is the life I've been living for the past 38 weeks and 5 days. Not that I'm counting. Maybe I'm turning into a mommy blogger...

In that time, I have read, heard and seen things that you would not believe. Some of them you would, because if you've been pregnant, it's probably happened to you, or you know someone it happened to. Or maybe you are one of the offenders. Oh and #sorryimnotsorry for the swearing.

To the bitches who only gain 20 lbs or less, don't swell or have trouble sleeping, pain, carpal tunnel, backaches, headaches, etc. Fuck you. I say that with love and jealousy in my heart.

To the carpal tunnel and arthritis that have taken over my hands, fingers and wrists: you are the devil. May someone somewhere find a cure for you in the near future.

To the people who said WOW! back when September when I told them I'm not due until December. Is that, "wow! You look great!" ? Or "wow, you're really big and still have a while to go!" ? I'll go with the latter since people are assholes.

To the people who tell me, "You look great!" without even really looking at me, but just know that's what you say to a very pregnant woman: I love you.

To my previously big, but now porn-star-sized boobs: Before we were pregnant, you were DD's. Your current size is one I won't reveal. I shudder to think what you will look like when "engorged" after my milk comes in. If you don't do what you're supposed to and feed the kid,  my threats of downsizing you will come true sooner than we all thought.

To my legs that look like they belong to a 500 lb woman. I have approximately 10 pairs of cute boots made for the fall/winter,  yet I can only zip ONE of you around my swollen legs. This makes it difficult to fulfill my fantasies of being an adorable preggo who lives in leggings, cardigans, scarves and boots.

To my squished internal organs: You're making it difficult to eat, breathe and poop on a regular basis. Yet somehow I need to do all of these things to survive and keep the baby inside me kicking. Let's look alive, and try to get back to our normal positions soon, yes?

To the people who judge me for drinking caffeine or a glass of wine, and for eating soft cheeses or deli meat that I haven't heated up: Ask me if I give a shit what you think. 

To the stranger who not once, but twice, but BOTH hands on my belly and exclaimed, "I love babies!" I made it so far into my pregnancy without this happening and now you've ruined my perfect record. Take those grabby hands and go touch someone else's stomach.

To the people who ask me when I'm due and I respond with, "I'm not pregnant." I'm sorry. I'm just so sick of all the questions, it's become more fun to fuck with you. But since you asked, I'm due next week.

To my cervix, which my doctor told me today was like "Fort Knox." Please, I beg of you. Respond to the primrose oil, raspberry leaf tea, walking, massages, pedicures and sex and OPEN THE FUCK UP. This kid needs a way out, like yesterday.

To the women at work, who every morning exclaim, "You're still here!" in shock and awe. Yep. Still here. Still pregnant. Still feeling miserable. Thanks for reminding me.

To the kid who will come out as a result of all this: I have faith you'll be worth it.

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