This will more than likely evolve into a series of rants. As a younger, free-er, unburdened person, I'd write. For myself, for therapeutic purposes, and as a means to keep myself out of maximum security prisons. I'd write LONG, flowery, overly narrative, and intensively descriptive stories to work out what I thought my life should be. Now, I often find myself thinking in my own quirky style of writing. If I were to ever write a book, after MUCH education, many tens of thousands of dollars in student loans, extensive rejection, accusations of copious amounts of self confidence and an over abundant belief in my own abilities, the book would be something like these little snippets. An amuse-bouche, if you will: just a bite to contain all of the flavor you are trying to express. See, flowery detail. So here is my first installment:
Your Baby is Trying to Kill You.
Phase One: Pregnancy and Childbirth
It is clear to me, (as an obvious pregnancy expert... I mean, I've done it twice!) that after you are pregnant, and you've given birth, the mysteries of the universe begin to unravel. You must shake off the cloud of drowsiness, and shut out the din of screaming to see it, but the purpose of life will be revealed. Our children are trying to kill us.
Many schools of thought claim that we are put on earth to procreate. To have children and further society. We are who we nurture and raise. We build the future. Phooey. I think we've been looking at this all wrong. I believe we have it all backwards. The children had US created for their sheer entertainment and their thirst for torture and blood. If you ponder this ideology long enough, you'll be a full convert. You'll see the truth in the inhumanity of humanity. We are puppets and children hold the strings in their sticky, evil hands.
Often, from the moment of conception a woman will just "know" she is pregnant. It isn't divine intervention, there are tell tale signs. Most of those signs scream in agonizing neon. Note, that these precursors to the positive test are all horrific in their own sweet ways. You feel "off", tender breasts (ah, let's not wax poetic, those twins hurt like hell), fatigue, and nausea. Blissful. That "pregnancy glow" is actually nothing more than the light refracting in the sweat you've accumulated after bouts of vomiting. Amazing, isn't it, that 8 tiny cells can wreak such chaos in your nervous system? Amazing... or crafty?
How sly these little embryonic soldiers are. How they taunt and tease! "Hey Mommy! You really want nothing more than a bagel with veggie cream cheese. Seriously. You've never wanted anything more in your life, and I know they aren't your usual go-took snack, but come on! I'm a growing baby, I'm hungry, you need your energy! EAT. THE. BAGEL." You have a whim. You give into the whim, after all, you're pregnant! This is not the time for watching waist lines and you actually DO WANT THAT BAGEL! Nosh away! Num. Isn't that good...... cut to 20 minutes later and your praying to the gods of the commode while you offer them the entire contents of your stomach. Baby pulled a fast one, and that slight indigestion you feel is nothing more than the cackling laugh of the baby within. Baby holds the strings, and baby is messing with mommy.
The peeing, OH THE PEEING! Why would a baby want you to be on the verge of a child-like accident ever half hour? Although it is funny to make a grown woman run to the restroom, or have a constant fear of wetting her pants whilst laughing, the ultimate goal is right beneath the surface if you're attentive. Slow, deliberate dehydration. Yes, doctor's tell you to stay hydrated, and you want to curse the doctor for prescribing you to fuel the constant need for urination. Know this: The doctor is your biggest advocate. Your OB may very well be aware of the sinister ploy of babies. Drink those extra gallons as a bird flip to your developing offspring! HA! You will not get me this time tiny fetus!
You'll grow, breasts and waists expanding. Baby wants to stretch, baby's getting bigger... BULL! Baby's trying to throw off your center of gravity so you'll take a header down the stairs! If you have other children, be warned that they are in on the plot also. Know that there will be neatly arranged rows of toys, tiny little fisher-price trip lines. You've gained 20 (50) pounds, most of it visible in the form of your baby bunker (belly). Your baby is now eclipsing all of the ground at your feet. You can't see these toy land mines, and you will go down. You will find the occasional doctor, perhaps an older variety filled with understanding and compassion, one that the children haven't paid off, that will suggest staying off of your feet. Understand this is for your own safety.
In the last few months of battle, you are spent. Tired, fatigued, unable to satiate, dehydrated. The battle has been long and hard. This is actually when the real battle begins. In this exhausted state, your baby will make its escape. All the experts are in the pockets of babes. They'll convince you to forgo pain relief for the sake of baby. Well, obviously it IS for the sake of baby. Baby wants a weak opponent! Those "experts" will tell you to push baby out. You'll be weak, and in pain, and every nerve is screaming at you. You'll think your body is helping you with the process, but nature is telling you to STOP! FIGHT! Keep that demon spawn IN! Anyone witness to a birth can tell you how similar it is to a crime scene. The only thing missing is the caution tape, professional collection of evidence, and tiny baby handcuffs.
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