me just start by saying if you have an ultrasound picture of your
baby stuck on your refrigerator with a magnet, you're not someone
I want to be friends with. And if you have someone else's baby's
ultrasound picture up there, well, that's just a cry for help. I'm
never sure what I'm supposed to say when confronted with this. "Wow,
that's one sexy fetus?" I got pictures from my ultrasound too,
but I didn't wallpaper the house with them. Isn't it bad enough
that we have to see a million pictures of your baby after it's born?
Now we have to see what it kinda, sorta looks like before it even
I knew early on in my pregnancy I wasn't like other pregnant women.
When my husband and I went for my ultrasound, (yes, he came with
me: there was like a 95% percent chance he was the dad we figured
he should tag along), the first thing the nurse asked me was if
I'd brought a videotape. A videotape? I must've looked confused
because she explained to me, "Most people want to take home
a souvenir of this magic event." I nodded and said, "Yeah,
I definitely won't need that. I'm barely on board with the whole
pregnancy thing as it is." To which the nurse replied that
she was reporting me to social services. Okay, she didn't say it
out loud but I could see it in her stare.
Clearly there are many, many people who do opt for the ultrasound
video. If you are one of them, just know -- I don't want to see
it. Oh, and that goes double for your skydiving video. About the
only way I'd ever be interested in watching footage of your big
is if you don't make it. It's like the world is chock
full of people with no clue of their capacity to be irritating.
And pregnancy just magnifies it.
Pregnant women seem to take one of two paths when they get knocked
up, although -- being annoying -- they'd probably refer to it as
there's the woman who loooooves being pregnant. You know her. She's
so excited to join the Cult of Mommy that she's taking pregnancy
yoga before the stick turns blue. Anyone who revels this much in
being pregnant is suspect in my book. These are the kind of women
who will keep a pregnancy journal, refer to the day the baby is
born as "the bless-ed event" and throw around the word
"amazing" like Jay-Z uses bitch. There's also a very good
chance they make their own Christmas tree wreaths and light potpourri.
These are not my kind of people.
of the women in this camp also refuse to find out the sex of their
baby because "they want to be surprised!" I hate people
who love surprises. Plus, is it really going to be that much of
a surprise? It's either going to be a boy or
it's going to
be a girl! Actually, the only real surprise I can think of is if
the baby comes out a different race. Then, I would say, it's going
to be more of a surprise to the father.
Sheen and Denise Richards split up when she was seven months pregnant
and a lot of people were shocked. I was too. I can't believe he
lasted that long. You can just tell by looking at her that Denise
is in the above category. I read an interview with her from when
she was pregnant with her first kid where she talked about how "complete"
she felt and how a Perrier with lime and just a teeny splash of
cranberry juice is such a wonderful alternative to a glass of wine.
You know what else is a wonderful alternative to a glass of wine?
A shot of tequila! Is she on crack? Obviously not, that might make
her interesting. Sadly the time pregnant women quit drinking is
the time a lot of them most need a drink. Or at least I do to be
I ran into one of these ladies at my OB's office. As you can probably
imagine, there's nothing worse than a room full of pregnant women
with time on their hands. I had been scanning the room hoping to
find someone to talk to who at least had a little bit of personality,
so I struck up a conversation with the only woman not knitting.
She immediately tried to engage me in a conversation about nursery
themes. Up until that moment, I didn't know nurseries had themes.
It's not a fucking prom it's a baby's room. I guess having a crib
just isn't enough. Now you have to have a jungle theme or a fairy
princess theme. There are actually books devoted entirely to this
subject. Go to Amazon, type in Baby Nursery and then promptly kill
yourself. There are tons of books listed there including one called
"Spirit of the Nursery." I'd be willing to bet my baby
that Denise owns that book. I'm sorry but this just seems like overkill.
Babies don't even see in color until they're teenagers or something.
the euphoric preggos aren't alone in their ability to empty a room.
Pregnancy martyrs, you're also on my watch list.
know them -- they hate every goddamn minute of being pregnant and
can't stop sharing it with the world. The ones who moan about what
they can and can't drink; wear; breathe; etc. -- the ones who can
detect someone smoking a cigarette from two Starbucks down and demand
the offender put it out. You'd think they were the first person
to ever get knocked up. They immediately start using the parking
space designated for expectant mothers at baby stores (cloyingly
named "stork parking.") I want to tell them, "You're
not handicapped, you're having a baby. And, trust me, if you could
see your ass right now you'd park as far away as possible. You need
the exercise." But I keep my mouth shut because pregnant women
are good in a fight. Remember, they're fighting for two now.
Look, I know pregnancy is tough. I've been there. I get it:
Being the size of John Goodman and swimming in hormones is not pretty.
One night when I was about six months pregnant I actually found
myself tearing up in my car to a Celine Dion song -- and no, not,
the theme to Titanic. Come on, I was pregnant, not 14. In
my defense I was a bit drunk (my OB said I could have 5-6 drinks
he mentioned nothing about spreading them out.) But
the point is, behaving like a normal person is a choice. There's
no reason to alienate all your single friends and irritate your
poor husband. I know he wants sex and you just want to watch the
results show on American Idol. I know you feel too congested
to give him a blowjob, but put on a Breathe-Rite strip and take
care of business. Suck it up, sisters (intended). Take one for the
team. And for God's sake please don't email me any more pictures
of your sonogram.
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