So, let’s start off by announcing that I’m pregnant (and terrified! Have you seen the birthing videos?!). How did this happen? Mostly sex. Was it on purpose? It wasn’t not on purpose but was still a surprise.
A few months ago, I was sitting in a restaurant in Brooklyn with my longtime best friend talking about our future. She wanted a house in the Catskills and I said that I wanted what I always want: To write. Write books, movies, storytelling pieces, grocery lists, as long as I’m putting pen to paper or molesting my keyboards, I’m happy.
“What about kids?” She asked.
“We want kids, I think. But I also don’t need them to be happy. Like I won’t feel any less of a woman if I don’t have them. We’ll see, I guess.”
Turns out, I was already two weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, I’d also spent the previous night drinking a shitload of wine so if my kid sucks at math, we’ll know why (Sorry kiddo, I had no idea. Blame your aunt D).
I found out I was pregnant exactly one week after getting back to SLC from New York. My period was a few days late, but that happens to me every time I travel or drink so I just assumed it was my body being an asshole like always. But just in case, I grabbed a pack of prego tests and took one in the A.M. on a Wed morning. The same day that my father-in-law was coming to visit from Italy FOR A MONTH (but that’s another story). I peed on the stick, tossed the test on the sink, and brushed my teeth. My husband yelled to me from the living room, “I’m leaving! See you after work!” the front door closed. I glanced down at the test and there were two lines. I grabbed the box and frantically skimmed the directions and mumbled to myself, two lines? Two LINES? Then I saw the little picture: Two lines=pregnant. Knocked up. With child. Or, as my therapist put it, “Incubating.”
I threw the box on the ground and ran outside in my robe to scream hysterically at my husband, “stop the car and come in the house!”
In the bathroom, I waved the pee-soaked pregnancy test in F’s face. He shrugged.
“I don’t understand babe.”
“Dude! Come on! I’m pregnant!” I was super excited.
He stared at the test. “But how do you know?”
I grabbed the box off of the floor and pointed to the directions where it showed that two lines meant pregnant, then I pointed to the pregnancy test.
“But how do you know?” He asked again.
“What do you mean? Because of the test!”
“Like 99% or some really high number.”
He gazed into space and then came back into his body and said, “Awesome!” Then he left. For work. Like he didn’t abandon me for the Canary Islands and a nineteen-year-old or anything. I spent the rest of the day in some weird headspace where I’d randomly remember that I was pregnant while writing something for a client and have a mini freak out and then I’d forget again. We wanted kids, especially F who’d been begging for them since before we were married, but regardless of how “prepared” we thought we were or wanting it, it’s big news and a lot to process. I felt overwhelmed and freaked out which was the opposite of what all the baby articles I read suggested I should feel. In fact, everything that I read that day about being pregnant was just like, Sound the Bells of Glory! You Must Be Thrilled New Mom! Nurseries, cute baby clothes, running in fields of tulips with your hair blowing like Beyoncé!” And like, yeah, for sure I was grateful and happy, but also terrified. Coming to the realization that for the rest of the year (a whole year!) you’re going swell up like a beach ball and feel (more likely than not) like crap is scary and overwhelming. And while I’m not the vainest person in the world (I usually look like a woman coming off a bender), I don’t do well with big changes. In addition, once the pregnancy part is over you are permanently responsible for a person. A whole person. They’re happiness, emotional health, physical health, safety, self-esteem! Like, if he/she becomes a serial killer, that’s on us. Aaaaaah!
I’m now four months pregnant and coming to grips with a whole lot of different (sometimes mixed) feelings. For example, I’m apparently really bad at being pregnant. I’m not smoking crack or riding bulls but I don’t seem to feel how I’m “supposed” to feel. I feel like actual death every waking moment but as a pregnant woman apparently, you’re not supposed to admit that. When someone asks you, “OMG, DO YOU LOVE BEING PREGNANT?!” Apparently, you’re never supposed to say, “I feel like complete shit,” because then they look at you like the actual devil and they’ll quickly say something like, “but it’s so worth it!” I’ve learned that people want you to say: I’m full of rainbows and unicorns and I am a virginal queen of the wheat fields. And when I throw up in public it’s a miracle, praise the universe.” It’s a lot of pressure to have to fake enthusiasm when you’re bloated, queasy, spitting up acid, and your mouth inexplicably tastes like copper for no fucking reason. Seriously, can someone explain the bad taste to me?
Having a kid is going to be awesome and I’m super excited to teach them sarcasm and why Orcas are the coolest animals ever (other than the majestic Capybara), take them to Italy for the summer to visit family, teach them how to count and evade taxes. But the unpopular truth is this: So far, I do not loved being pregnant. I do not feel like I’m full of butterflies and kittens, instead, I feel like I spent all night binge drinking vodka and snorting battery acid and I have to function at work while actively trying not to throw up in meetings. It’s a 24/7 hangover that feels like it might never end. In addition, I’m incredibly emotional and cannot watch The Vampire Diaries right now (better to watch it late, than never) because I’m overly invested in the lives of the characters. Also, what if my kid pops out and is creepy as hell because I’ve been binge-watching a show about demons, vampires, witches, and more demons. I’m emotional and my brain is doing things. Let’s not even talk about the time I burst out crying at my husband for being “mean,” to me or the bizarre sex dreams. SO MANY SEX DREAMS! There’s a lot happening inside this body right now and it’s a lot of weird.
When I see pregnancy posts on Pinterest and the woman is like glowing and dressed like the Virgin Mary, I think to myself, “awe, shes beautiful,” and also, “bullshit.” I blame the hormones for my shitty attitude.
I’ve been told the first trimester is the hardest so soon I’ll feel better. Guys, I seriously hope I feel better soon. Send help. SOS. Pray to the universe that the second trimester will actually be unicorns and rainbows.