It has amused me for quite some time now that my blog is featured on a blogring of pregnant and expecting blogs... namely because when I've visited other blogs from this ring, I realize that I am NOTHING like these women with the exception that I have a fetus in my uterus. Yeah, sure, you have your general pregnancy stories -- the baby kicks my ribs, thinks my bladder rocks as a pillow, I'm a fat orca whale, this child is eating my soul, etc. etc. -- but then you get to the very root of it. I'm so not a pregnancy role model.
I tried to be. When I first got pregnant, I delved into all the web sites telling me what not to eat (hot dogs, soft cheeses, deli meat, sushi, fish in general, peoples' heads, etc.) and diligently abided these rules, along with all the other stuff I had to give up, including alcohol, smoking, marijuana (whatever, don't look at me like you haven't smoked your share, too), caffeine and over-the-counter painkillers with the exception of Tylenol. Which, by the way, if you are a fellow sufferer of chronic migraines like myself (yay for genetics!), I'm sure you'll join me in a hearty FUCK THAT for anyone who thinks Tylenol will curb a migraine. It doesn't. It doesn't do shit. I want my Vicodin, I want my Imitrex, and I want it NOW. But because I don't want my child to come out looking like Vishnu with six arms and three heads, I had to give it up and suck it up when migraines came around. (Which they did, frequently and with a vengeance when I gave up caffeine.)
Anywho. Eight months in, I've pretty much quit being Supermom. My sister-in-law was one of those who basically abstained from any kind of vice and any kind of potentially hazardous food, as I am frequently reminded by my mother-in-law, who advocates it and looked like I killed a kitten when I ordered a Coke -- a REGULAR COKE, OMG!!!11! -- the last time A and I went out to eat with them. You know what, fuck it. (Yeah, I'm going to be a mom and I say fuck sometimes. Or a lot of the time. What-the-fuck-ever.) I'm tired of following rules. And so I've hit the caffeine with a vengeance, stand in front of microwaves, eat fish, LOVE goat cheese on croutons at work, and you know what? According to every ultrasound and heart check to date, this baby is 100% healthy. Totally fine. Fuck you, Google and WebMD.
I'm still a good mom, as good a mom as you can be to a fetus. I mean, I let her have marshmallows whenever she wants. And key lime pie. And chocolate. A lot of chocolate. Whatever, the baby makes me eat it, I swear.
But yeah, my original point? I forgot it a while ago. Oh. Yeah. For anyone stumbling across this page from the Perfect Pregnant Woman blogs, or from Google blog searches for pregnant role models... continue your search, it ain't me. I'm just a kid livin' a dream... and downing a LOT of sugar and caffeine in the meantime. Go eat veggies or something -- there, there's my public service announcement for the day.
The Prego has spoken.
1 hour ago
1 comments:
Hee hee. It's funny how people think that being pregnant means you have to change everything about your lifestyle. Sure, those weekend drunk binges should go, but a little chocolate's not going to hurt anything.
Then, as soon as the kid actually arrives, well there'll be plenty of stuff to do wrong then too :) My mom gave my grandma conniption fits because my folks never really made my brother and I take naps. A cardinal sin according to grandma, but my parents' logic was simple: "If the kid's tired enough, they'll fall asleep on their own."
It worked. Neither my brother nor I are mass murderers, either. I promise.
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