I’ve had so many e-mails from so many folks asking if I’m going to blog the baby-to-be. My initial reaction was “hell no!” But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that perhaps being the Venomous Kind Of Bitch that I am gives me a unique perspective. Besides which, I’m bored today. So… here is the first part of The Guide To Being Venomously Pregnant.

Disclaimer: The following entry, and all entries under this category, are intended to be humorous personal observations on my pregnancy. They are in no way reflective of my attitude toward children, except, perhaps, yours. Some, if not all, of the statements herein may sound melodramatic, pessimistic, hypochondriacal, ill-tempered, hormonal, self-centered, demanding, unrealistically wishful, contradictory, manipulative, churlish, or downright petty. In short, they are written by a pregnant woman and therefore unsuitable for reading by those under twenty-four; those who have never had children; women with “martyr” or “Martha Stewart” or “my, aren’t I sweet” complexes or who in any way consider themselves or have ever been described as holier-than-thou; those who have no sense of humor; and grown men. For the remaining two people not excluded by the above descriptions, please remember that it is never a good idea to piss off a pregnant woman, much less one who willingly calls herself “Venomous.”

Babies are cute. What’s not to love? With their fuzzy little heads smelling of perpetual innocence, flawless pudgy pink cheeks, cupid mouths and those impossibly tiny fingers and toes, they are magical, enchanting and heart-warming. But, alas, they all too quickly turn into tireless poop and puke machines who will one day demand to borrow your clothes, your credit cards, your car and, eventually, your liquor cabinet.

Before you rush into things and get yourself knocked up, follow the Venomous Guide to Planning Your Pregnancy:

1. Sit down.
2. Have a drink.
3. Have another.
4. Take a good, long look at your husband. Now, picture your father-in-law. Picture yourself having sex with your father-in-law. Sound gross? Well, get over it. Because – if you do have children, that is precisely how old your husband is going to be by the next time the two of you have the energy/cash/privacy to have another nice, long, romantic heave-ho on the living room floor. Not so idyllic now, is it?
5. Have another drink.
6. Go to sleep, or pass out, or whatever you call it when you close your eyes after three drinks and don’t open them again for hours. When you do wake up, repeat steps 1 through 4.

Why?

Because if you’re going to have children, you’d better get all of the booze and sleep you can handle now. Once they’re here, you’ll find yourself offering all sorts of sexual favors to your husband in exchange for his willingness to act as the Designated Driver on those rare chances you book a babysitter. And that will only get you pregnant again.

Oh, and as for that sleep thing: you can trade all of the sexual favors for it that you want, but the fact is that once baby cries and you, the Mommy, hear it, you’ll never get back to sleep even if Dad handles the midnight feeding and diaper change. Nope, you’ll lie awake in bed listening to every little noise, certain that Dad doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, then once Dad is back in bed next to you and snoring away, you’ll get up and tiptoe down the hall to check on the baby “just to make sure everything is okay.” This will wake up the baby, who is instinctively able to sense when The Mommy is near, and you will not be able to convince the baby to return to sleep until the sun begins peeking over the horizon. Once you’ve succeeded, your alarm will go off and it, too, will wake the baby who will be pissed at having his/her sleep interrupted. So, enjoy your sleep now.

Fine. I can’t talk you into your senses. So be it. Since you’re all fired up about getting pregnant, here’s the tried-and-true method I’ve used for three pregnancies now:

1. Wait until some occasion on which you are “entitled” to receive a present. (e.g., your birthday, Valentine’s, Christmas.)
2. Open the present, then oooh and aahhhh over it until your spouse feels wholly flattered and puffed up with masculine superiority.
3. Insist on pampering your spouse out of gratitude. Pour him a drink, then pour yourself one.
4. Repeat step 3 liberally.
5. Go to bed and pass out in a drunken stupor, convinced that you’ve adequately thanked your spouse and that he’ll leave you alone rather than trying to have sex while the room is spinning in different directions for each of you and your stomach is doing the rhumba with your rum.
6. Four weeks later, realize that somehow you got pregnant and you don’t remember a damned thing.
7. Begin planning ways to break the news to your spouse. But first, remember that you are now entitled to vomit whenever and wherever you please, so give some thought to using this method of breaking the news while he’s sitting on the sofa watching TV as you do the dishes. Alone. Again.

[Author's note: although the Guide to Being Venomously Pregnant will hereafter be updated on a weekly basis, I was a little slow on the uptake when it came to step 6 and 7 above and therefore have some catching up to do.]

Here’s what you can physically look forward to at this stage:

• Puking first thing in the morning.

• Puking when you smell that once-cherished cup of coffee. Try moving the cup quickly out of the way. (Good luck.)

• Puking when you realized that your beloved husband forgot to take out the trash last night and the smell of it is now filling the kitchen.

• Farting. A lot. I don’t know why, but it’s true.

• Puking when you smell the air after you’ve just farted.

• Finding yourself ravenously hungry once the desire for puking has passed. Suddenly, “Spam” is not a dirty word. In fact, with a little mustard on it and a glass of orange juice on the side, it sounds downright good for breakfast.

• Puking again when you remember that, pregnant or not, Spam and mustard and OJ combined are just damned gross.

• Constipation. In fact, this alone can explain why you suddenly “look pregnant” when the size of your baby-to-be is smaller than some of the chunks of Spam that you just blew into that second cup of coffee you poured for yourself. Consider the effort it now takes to have a bowel movement as good practice for 9 months from now when the doctor says “push! push! push!”

• Peeing every 30 minutes.

In fact, I probably should’ve noted that earlier, because you’ll find when you’re puking that you’re also in desperate need of peeing, too. Thus begins an awkward ritual in which you’ll learn to spew forth from one end of your body and almost immediately flip around in mid-air so the other end can burst forth, too. This is a handy trick to learn, because within a year you’ll be helping your newborn perform the same feat when s/he gets sick for the first time. Except it won’t be pee that’s spewing from the back-end. And you won’t feel nearly as relieved afterwards.

• Upon passing the bathroom mirror en route to or immediately following one of your pee/puke bouts, you’ll absent-mindedly glance at your reflection and realize with pride – and horror – that your boobs have already begun to grow.

Not just a little, mind you. Nope, you’ll go from a 36B to a (painful and tender) 36C almost overnight. Which is cool to look at, until you realize that you still have 8 months to go. Suddenly, this doesn’t seem so unrealistic, does it? (Warning: you’ll feel like puking again once you ponder that fact. Work through it. This one’s not the real thing.)

• With all of this puking – which, by the way, is not limited to mornings, and which, by the way, will wake you up three or four times a night – you’re going to be tired. You’ll also be tired because your body is producing another human being who, right now, is only the size of a grain of rice and yet has managed to redirect the cosmos so that the entire universe is now revolving around you and your belly. In short, you will be tired of peeing, tired of puking, and tired that nobody understands just how fucking tired you are.

• Because you are tired, you are going to have absolutely no interest in sex. Don’t let that alarm you. For one thing, it’s good practice for your husband, since he’s going to have several months of “no go, pal” to look forward to.

For your part, you won’t be missing out on much because now you’re going to experience erotic hormone-induced dreams about everyone and everything you see throughout your day (when you’re not peeing and puking, that is), including, but not limited to: your OB/GYN; that nice young man who looked so sexy handling your canteloupe as he sacked your groceries three days ago; bloggers you’ve never met and really don’t plan to; and, even, former Democratic presidents who otherwise make your skin crawl but who, word has it, know their way around a fine cigar.

[Note: I am not a doctor, and therefore cannot establish it beyond medical certainty, but I am rather convinced from personal experience that these dreams and the desire to puke first thing in the morning are somehow related.]

Now, what you can look forward to experiencing emotionally at this stage:

• Pregnant? How the hell did that happen. Oh, duh!

• Pregnant? How cool! Oh, wait. So much for that vacation in Australia we’d planned for next summer. Well, we can always do it… uhm…. Oh well, at least we’re pregnant!

• Oh, God, I’ve been ignoring you/an athiest/an agnostic/a devil-worshipper/a (fill in the blank with your mortal sin) for years now, but if you’ll give me a happy, healthy, beautiful, perfect baby I promise I’ll become a nun…oh, no, wait… I’ll get up early and go to church every Sunday… oh, no, hold on… I’ll stop swearing… oh, wait… Ok, I’ve got it: every now and then, when it’s not too much trouble and it’s not going to cost me sleep, and when I can remember it and it’s not too expensive, I’ll do something nice for someone, as long as it’s not someone too gross, too clingy, too smelly, or too scary. Ok? Do we have a deal???”

•For God’s sake, why does every fucking person keep making such a big deal out of the fact that I’m pregnant?? Can’t we talk about another goddamned subject for a goddamned moment? Oh, wait. Did I promise I’d stop swearing? I can’t remember. Shit. I can’t remember anything these days. I’m already getting tired of this pregnancy crap.

Then finally:

• Pregnant! How cool is that?!!

Sunday, June 15th, 2003, 3:34 pm   |   My Venomous Life  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.