If you’ve been wondering if I’ve lost my mind with all my recent emotional posts and parenting essays the answer is yes. Sort of.
It may appear that I’ve become emotionally unstable, borderline psychotic and overall irrational.
But in reality, I’m just pregnant.
Social media is such a sham.
While it seems like I’ve been living the dream, sipping cocktails on the daily and attending various social functions, in reality I’ve been praying to the porcelain Gods.
I keep racking my brain for how this happened. I simply just don’t understand.
OK, I know how this “happened” but how did it happen in my home?
My husband and I barely have enough time to change the toilet paper roll but somehow we managed to make another human being? I seriously think the universe is effing with us.
Let’s take a ride in my pre-pregnancy time machine, destination: 4 months ago……
It was Rodeo Day at my son’s school and I had signed up to volunteer. This usually isn’t a big deal but for some reason that day I felt like I was going to pass out. The kids were screaming. The other moms were chatting. And I just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I felt so bad.
Was I hung over? I only had 2 glasses, I mean 3 glasses of wine the night before.
This for sure wasn’t unusual for me but for some reason I could barely stand or carry a conversation. One of the moms saw that I was struggling and asked what was wrong with me and I simply replied, “I don’t know, I think I may have a bug.
She said “I hope you’re not pregnant.”
I laughed and said, “that’s impossible,” but in reality, my life was flashing before me. I made an excuse to leave and darted to the car. I sat in the car in a state of shock. What if she was right?
When was my last period? I had no clue. Does anyone ever have a clue? Why don’t I keep a detailed calendar about something as important as potentially being with child? My New Years resolution was to be more organized.
“WTF is wrong with me? Breathe Holly. Breathe.” I remember thinking
I pulled out my phone to track to my period by trying to remember the last time I was totally inconvenienced in public. That’s how I usually remember my time of the month. Oh yes! We were at a beer garden and I had to get up multiple times to change my tampon and my beer kept getting warm.
January 30th. I started counting the days from there. 32. Fuuuuuuuuuudge. I’m super regular with 24 day cycles. I know this all a lot of TMI but if you read this blog, we are a little past that. I must have been starting to turn white because my son asked what was wrong. I started to cry. I’m sorry, in the interest of honesty, let me rephrase that. I started to wail, like a newborn baby.
My son then asked if I was hurt. Sometimes I forget that he is four now and understands when I am in pain. I shouldn’t have had this breakdown in front of him but short of me hiding in the bathroom holding the door shut while he attempts to bang it down, I really don’t get a ton of time alone.
I said, “No, Mommy is not hurt but daddy is going to be.”
In fact, he was a dead man.
I’m going to be brutally honest here. My husband and I are well, married, with a toddler. We don’t have a lot of free time on our hands to ya know, have romance. I’m also 36, with an inverted uterus and a fibroid the size of a softball, the chances of getting pregnant are slim to none. Talk about unfavorable conditions. I still haven’t taken Immaculate Conception off the table.
So the rest of the day I was in a daze and still in denial. Surely, I was just late and nauseous and emotional. I mean it’s not out of the realm of possibilities for me. When my husband came home I told him that I think I “may” be pregnant. He said I was probably being dramatic and we hadn’t even had um, relations, THAT he could remember.
Yes people, it only takes one THAT.
He suggested we just take a test and put this issue to rest.But I knew. All women know. It’s that gut thing. I kept trying to rationalize.
Was it possible that I was just late?
Was it likely?
So I did what any responsible mom would do: I suggested we go to my favorite Mexican restaurant so I could have a Mexican martini (maybe two) then we take a test. I knew in my heart it would be my last for a very long time. So that is exactly what we did.
The test had two pink lines immediately. And that wasn’t my mexi-coma speaking.
Now that it all boils down to reality, the truth is, I’m seriously in over my head. Multiple questions go through my head on a daily basis. Crazy questions that are not normal for an expectant mother who should already be an expert on this whole motherhood thing.
How will I raise another child?
What am I supposed to do with a baby?
What if it wants me to change its diaper or swaddle it?
What if it cries?
I do not remember how to do these things.
I have amnesia from when my son was a baby and honestly don’t know how I survived taking care of him. I’m still in a state of shock that they allowed me to take him home from the hospital without some sort of “mom certification.” Not to mention, now there are all these rules and regulations for kids. So much has changed since I had a newborn 5 years ago.
The nap nanny is illegal.
You can only sit the bumbo on the floor.
They can now allegedly die in the swing.
And forget about letting them sleep in the carseat.
Wait, no pacifiers in the crib.
I seriously want to cry.
I guess I need to register.
I know nothing about girls. Yes, it’s a girl.
Remember to wipe front to back.
Like I said, I’m still processing.
Even though we are scared shitless and have no idea how God deemed us fit AGAIN when we can hardly raise the kid we have, we are up to the challenge. We will make this raising a second child thing our bitch. Not the baby. Parenting. Just 3 months 2 weeks 1 day 36 minutes and 4 seconds until I can drink again.
I mean hold that beautiful bundle.
In the mean time pray for me.
Drink for me.
Eat sushi for me.
Have some blue cheese for me.
Sit in a steam room for me.
Enjoy your thigh gap for me.
And for the love of God, have some effing fun for me.
Pregnancy is a beast.