Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Inappropriate Reasons I Am Psyched to Be Pregnant

That’s right, Moo Cow is growing another rascal. I want to write something melodramatic and starry-eyed about it. Maybe another time.

Instead, let’s just get something straight. I do not like being pregnant. I wasn’t writing the first time around, so you missed the vitriol, but truly, if you are a person who just loved having a bowling ball inside your torso, smashing all the other organs into useless little pancakes, then you should either keep it to yourself or unfriend me preemptively. Because in theory, I love the idea of the little person in there. In practice, I’m pissed off and uncomfortable most of the time.

There are, however, a few reasons -- seven, to be specific -- that I am psyched to be pregnant again.

#1 - Hospital Socks

I’m always cold. Even in the dead of the summer, I sleep with a comforter. In the olden days, I hypothesized it was because I was skinny, but that theory has been disproved by recent evidence. I shiver day and night; I wear a gray wool hat indoors. So those hospital socks with the little grippies underneath are the best. I wear them to bed every night, which Rayne loves, because it’s a surefire signal that there will be no sex. I still have the brown ones from when I gave birth to Henry, but they are getting a little ratty. I’m totally due for a new pair or three.

#2 - Second-Trimester Sexy Time

In between the stage when you vomit just from hearing the word “vomit” and the stage when you are a gigantic whale, there is a sliver of time when you feel well and cute. And horny. Though I am in the second trimester now, I’m still waiting for the nausea and exhaustion to abate and the cute to kick in. I fear it might not. Possibly it’s because I have a toddler, also known as my personal energy-sucking machine. But I hold out hope. Rayne is more on board with this one than with the socks, as you might imagine.

#3 - Menses-Free Living

I know I will pay for this after giving birth, when I will bleed all nine months in the span of two weeks, but for now, I thumb my nose at tampons and those overnight pads with “wings.” I don’t want wings when I sleep. I just want pajamas. And hospital socks.

#4 - I Give Even Less of a Rat’s Ass

Someone recently was shocked at how big my belly was already. My response? “Fuck you.” Yep. Because I didn’t give a rat’s ass about social niceties in the first place; now that I’m perpetually, unreasonably tired and growing exponentially larger in two opposing directions (belly and butt), well, let's just say it's best to stay out of my way.

#5 - Boobs

Once upon a time I was concave in the chestal area. Then I gained weight and I was simply flat, with an inkling of flabbiness poking out of certain outfits. For this pregnancy, I am inexplicably HUGE, i.e., a full B cup. It’s cool, because they fill out shirts a bit and balance out the belly-butt axis of evil. BUT DON’T TOUCH THEM. Don’t even think about it. There is a price for this bounty, and it’s called soreness.

#6 - Maternity Pants

Maternity pants, with their wide, elastic, forgiving waistlines, are amazing. It’s like wearing pajamas every day. I wore my maternity pants until five months after I gave birth to Henry, just because I could. That is a LIE. I have maternity shorts and pants that I still wear because they fit like normal bottoms these days. Three cheers for maternity pants!

#7 - Cheese

To finish on a related note: Oh, cheese. I love you so, so much. Especially on a Triscuit. Thanks for being you.