There is a truth serum out there….It’s called pregnancy.
There is a thing about pregnancy, I have yet to put my finger on it, but I am getting closer to being able to describe it. It makes you schizophrenic, and I mean it in the most sincere way since, really, after all, there are two humans commanding your body, you and the intruder. For the most part I have been pretty fortunate during my pregnancy. My husband might tell you a different story. I promise not to sugar coat this though…as if I could anyway. I’ve said it before and I will say it again. It’s not for the faint at heart, I’m guessing here but, I don’t think parenthood will be either.

The joke in my house is that I will give birth to a red headed Mexican. You see, my husband has this gorgeous olive skin and thick dark hair and eyes the color of coffee with cream. I on the other hand have the whitest Irish skin you have ever seen, it was once actually described to me as, “transparent” while mingling at a barbeque. Truth be told, my hair was red when I was born. All my mama’s sisters have red hair….so my little red headed Mexican may not be too far off. I also only really want Mexican food to eat, and I want it slathered with hot sauce until my lips are burning off…and then I eat some more. Either way, I mostly pray this child has my husband’s sweet disposition, his skin, and perhaps his appetite too. Regardless, this child will be fabulously funny.

I watched another live birth this morning, my husband said, (at 0630 hours while I had it playing on my I-phone in bed)” It’s a little too early for a live birth” as soon as the narrator tells about the women’s previous episiotomy line tearing with this second birth. I said, “but I’m going to actually go thru this, I want to know”. His response was simple, “all I’m gonna say is PUSH, PUSSHHHHH, and be your cheerleader.” It’s sweet really, but I have a feeling he will be passed out on the floor as soon as I am rolled into labor and delivery and my sister will the one holding my hand saying push. My husband still can’t hear the word “uterus” without flinching.

To you women out there yet to experience the joys of pregnancy, let me tell you some things that will shock you. For one, your boobs will be bigger than your head. Not like, “oh goody my boobs are finally big.” More like, Oh wow, my boobs are obscene and must be covered like a nun at all times. You will also be so constipated that at some point you will be excited that you pooped a rabbit dropping, and then you will be miserable and upset again until the next rabbit dropping. One night you will go to sleep with a flat little tummy and the next morning you will wake up and look like you swallowed an avocado whole and it is sitting in your stomach. This is true, it happened to me last Friday night. I’m not sure where my kid came up with such a Popeye eating some spinach like growth spurt at 0200 hours, but it happened. You will also have moments where your husband says what’s for dinner and all you will want is something like a single baked potato. In your husband’s eyes this will not qualify as dinner. You might argue over this, arguments will happen. You might even argue about which way to carry a baby in a sling even though you don’t own a sling yet, or have had the baby. Last but not least of the horrifying facts that envelope you in all your pregnant glory is that you will be possessed to tell people the truth. It goes like this. “How are you feeling?” Answer. “I am constipated.”….uncomfortable silence from other party. “What do you feel like doing?” Answer. “Punching someone for their stupidity.”…awkward moment in the grocery store fruit aisle. “Your getting fat” (this was actually recently said to me, I am FAR from fat by the way, it was in regards to the whole avocado I swallowed last Friday)Answer. There were no words for this one, just a stare of death followed by reaching out and punching someone in their own gut followed by, “at least mine is baby.” Try and restrain yourself from violence, it’s hard sometimes, really hard, I obviously have to say do as I say on this one, not as I do. One more horrifying thing that you should know when you become pregnant; there is no “barely” pregnant. You either are pregnant or you aren’t. There is a distinct difference. You may be, “barely” along but let’s be real…you are pregnant at that point. Don’t ever say this to another women, do not ever say it to your friends when they are “barely” pregnant and turn down your invitation for a wild night on the town for sitting in pajamas on their couch and being close to the nearest toilet available….for either vomiting or rabbit droppings.

People will worry. Your mother will worry and your significant other will often panic. The doctor will mention that your blood pressure is too low as you enter into the second trimester. This will result in your husband telling your mother. Your mother will then invite you over for dinner….a salty dinner since the doctor will have told you to increase your salt to counter the low blood pressure. You will arrive to find that your mother has bought you gifts, gifts like, one box of Kosher salt, one bottle high sodium soy sauce, three cartons of high sodium chicken and beef broth as well as canning salt. Your husband will look approvingly and lovingly at your mother and thank her. Then take everything home and suggest to you that you should start drinking the high sodium chicken broth like it is water. People will want the best for you. Accept it.

This has been a public service announcement, brought to you by the truth serum of a pregnant lady who is not, “barely” pregnant anymore. Even in all its grossness and discomfort you will find moments that you truly enjoy it, usually when no one is around and you can stare at your naked growing stomach in private. Though I have to give my husband credit, he takes dang good care of me, even if he is learning to cook his own meals, but really ladies, a baked potato does not qualify as dinner. You will not be able to make this connection until later, after you have argued it is completely acceptable to eat a single baked potato for dinner.