Yesterday was a big day. I had the day off, and decided to spend it at the gynecologist’s office because sometimes, I make less than stellar decisions. Speaking of decisions, most of my reason for visiting was to ask some very important, personal and intimate questions regarding my recent thoughts of possibly becoming pregnant, such as how much alcohol and caffeine can’t I have. Ok, to be perfectly fair, I know there are things I’m going to have to live without for 9 months, but when I’m not even sure I want a baby in the first place – it makes it really hard to digest the fact that I will only be able to have ONE HALF OF ONE CUP OF COFFEE PER DAY. Did you read that right?? A 1/2 of a cup of coffee, A DAY. Um, excuse me Mr. Doctor, sir, but I said I wanted to possibly have a baby, not commit suicide. “You could always just have some water and put some dark stuff into it” he proceeded to joke. REALLY??!!! YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT TO A WOMAN WHO TAKES HER CAFFEINE VERY SERIOUSLY, I thought silently to myself out of fear he may take away even more of my beloved, sanity inducing delights. If I even hear him say one peep about bread, I’m leaving, this minute!
So, after asking a few other important questions, like ” why did you decide to become a gynecologist anyway?” because let’s face it – I wonder about that sort of thing, I decided I want to change Dr.’s. Not strictly because he was a man, wearing a matzo tie for passover whilst boasting about his opportunity to meet Bill Clinton a few weeks ago (I can’t make this stuff up, people!!) But because the 70’s style maxi-pads in his “for your use” cabinet, led me to believe his facts may be a little outdated, and who doesn’t deserve a second opinion when it comes to making such big decisions – like, do you take yours with or without cream?
4 month practice pose for Facebook. Whatcha think??!
Ps. 3 days ago I told my husband I would do anything for a plain Domino’s pizza crust smothered in melted Hershey chocolate, rolled up like a burrito and dipped in caramel. Having these kinds of cravings while I’m not expecting, make me a little nervous…
Ok, so I wouldn’t necessarily say I was excited to get my gums grafted – but, a week without eating (because obviously it was gonna be too painful) and floating around on a Vicodin cloud was going to equal a happy, skinny, Laura. Well, unfortunately for me – and any other living organism within a 28 mile radius, this just wasn’t the case. At. All.
As it turns out, I didn’t really have any pain, and rather than being put on a temporary ‘happy pill’ of some sort, I was given…… STEROIDS. Steroids? Really? Ok, I can do a round o’ roids, I mean, I don’t think a little extra bulge in the biceps deptartment is exactly a bad thing! Well, as it turns out, I’m no pharmacist, and these STEROIDS were not going to win me this years’ gun show. THESE EFFING PILLS MADE ME NUTS. As in bat sh#t crazy, as in get the eff away from me before I kill you – dogs and husband not exempt. I am talking straight loony tunes, get out the white coat kind of insanity. Oh, and I was on my period too.
Have you ever combined PMS with STEROIDS??!! It is safe to say that this type of concoction may have been the driving motive behind some of history’s biggest headlines, ie: Jeffery Dahmer and Ted Bundy.
Now let’s get to the food part.
Frankly, I could have been an 8 on the Wong-Baker pain scale, but it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference – I WAS GONNA PILE FOOD INTO MY PIE HOLE LIKE IT WAS MY LAST DAY ON EARTH because apparently being off your rocker isn’t enough, these pills also cause slightly unusual and highly caloric activities to take place, such as seeing how many scoops of dry Quaker Oats you can consume in one sitting.
Yes, this really happened. Just ask my husband. Although, he will probably say it was a wonderful side effect – due to my mouths’ lack of ability to multitask, he actually wasn’t being screamed at here.
Ok, no, I don’t exactly want to flip babies – but seriously WTF is going on with me??! I am having a little problem called: I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT HAVING A BABY and I don’t like it!! Btw, flipping is another word for fu#$!ng – and this obsessing over kids is seriously flipping nuts!! Let’s see, where do I ever begin? Oh I know – how about by telling you that I don’t even like babies. As in, NOT ONE BIT, but for some crazyyyyyyyy reason – having one is all I’ve been thinking about. Almost as much as I think about food, aka TOO MUCH! Oh? It’s my biological clock you say? Shouldn’t that s#!t have started ticking when I was in my 20’s? Well, whoever replaced those batteries isn’t currently on my “favorites” list.
You see, this all seemed to start after I saw a woman in Target pushing her baby around in a cart. I didn’t give a rats a@@ about the nino, I just wanted to be like the mother. I had the desire to push something in a cart so badly you’d swear it was my life’s purpose. And so I thought, maybe I just need more Great Danes – but then I will be out of a husband, so…
My biggest concern, besides getting fat and having morning sickness (I’d rather spend days being attacked, skinned alive, and drowned by a zombie apocalypse than throw-up once) is that I won’t like my baby, as in, get this thing the eff away from me, so I decided to talk to my best and most knowledgeable friend, Google, about my dilemma and do you know what he (yes, my Google is a he) told me??! THERE ARE MOTHERS OUT THERE THAT HATE THEIR BABIES!!! Frankly, this information scares me. Everyone says ” look at how much you love your dogs – imagine that love, but sooo much greater!” Really??! My dogs don’t barf on me or have screaming matches in Wal-Mart. They also poop outside (usually) and love their Mommy more than their Daddy, which won’t be the case with a child. Daddy will definitely be the favorite while Mommy stays locked away in the bathroom drinking cheap wine out of fancy stemmed glassware.
I guess I should be glad my Husband is such a softy with certain things. I mean, if I really end up not liking this whole parenting ordeal – I can probably just pack my bags and let the 2 bosom buddies live happily ever after.
Or, perhaps I can sell it? Does anyone know how many Great Danes I could get for a newborn???
I feel you judging me as you read this and you should stop! This is a big decision. Maybe if you knew how long it takes me to pick out a pack of gum at a gas station, you’d cut me a some slack…
Love something more than that face??!!! This one doesn’t ask for allowance raises, and even eats broccoli without complaint.
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