Knocked up & bored shitless

So, now I’ve admitted to being pregnant (even to myself), I appear to have lost my ability to write…. anything.  It’s like my brain has shut down because it’s pissed off with me for being so careless.  Or maybe all the blood is now pumping elsewhere which would explain why I keep forgetting things (can I smell smoke?).  So…..who loved, or loves, being pregnant?  I mean, its ok to say (or scream) “NOT ME!!!’  Its boring too!!  There’s nothing to do!!  I can’t friggin drink when I want, take Magic Mushrooms or do any kind of acid. It’s no wonder we need to sit at home “nesting”.  We’re bored shitless so we start organising all our cupboards.  It’s not because we’re nesting.  Its to keep our minds off partying until Baby comes (or is that clearly just me?). What else are you going to do with your time for fucks sake?! Knit!?  Give the Husband blow-jobs to whittle away your days?  Sod that.  I’m going to cry, moan and be a bitch.  I can’t help it though…. it’s my hormones.
This time round, not only was I soooo shocked when I found out, I’d been drinking up a storm and trying to set some sort of world record for how many units a woman of my size and teeny weeny stature could get through. When the Doctor told me I was “with child”, my reaction was less than maternal.  In fact, I was a little livid and delirious with resentment.  How was I going to have a drink & smoke now?  What the hell was going on!?  We were just starting to get our lives back and feel normal again.  The Twins were becoming a little more self-sufficient ie. can eat with their fingers now. Our days of sleepless nights were starting to narrow and we knew Kindergarten was just around the corner (freedom for me!).  So…. on hearing that I had to go back to square one and deal with shitty nappies, puking on everything, preparing bottles, sterilizing everything, waking every 3 hours to do night feeds, getting to know my new baby and all that comes with him/her…. I was not impressed. At all.
Also, the first time I was pregnant was through IVF.  That pregnancy was not only planned but something we’d dreamed of.   This time, I’m like a pissed-off London teenager (without the rioting), desperate for a drink and some party time.  Also with twin 1.5 year olds running around the house non-stop, there is no time for rest, ever.  The last line was drawn today when our Helper commented to me with a sweet smile on her face, “Maam, you are fat”.  I should have fired her on the spot but of course, I can’t live without her at the moment.  I mean, who the fuck would watch the kids while I’m napping?  That’s the other things which is also pissing me off.  I’m in the in-between stage where people don’t know if you’ve suddenly got fat, or are pregnant.  It’s really annoying me.  I’d rather just have the belly now, or not at all.  This stage makes things awkward as everyone’s left wondering why your tummys protruding, plus I’m surrounded by pregnant women (half my apartment block has knocked up angry-looking women in it. I think there’s something in the water) at the moment and this is causing “bump envy”.  Most are a few weeks more pregnant than I but look HUGE.  I want that bump just so people know I am in fact pregnant and not just had pasta for lunch (which lets face it, I did. And at breakfast. hey, I’m pregnant. fuck off).
So what joys have I experienced thus far?  Here’s a little list of complaints (those of you who are expecting may recognise some of them):-
  1. My Husband, “The Captain”, is pissing me off constantly.  In fact, I’m sooo angry with him that I apparently woke him in the middle of the night last week and told him (I have to quote this) “I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS”, before going back to sleep.  I don’t remember any of it (for all I know he could be lying) but it sure does sound like me at the moment.  Why am I soo angry with him? Hormones? I don’t think so.  i think my subconscious is pissed off with his sperm for impregnating me at the worst possible time.  Plus it’s his fucking fault we are now in this position!  If he hadn’t insisted on marital sex (we had been doing Vodka Jelly shots the night of the immaculate conception BTW), we would be living a quiet happy alcoholic life with toddlers growing into little kindergarteners and I could focus on drinking in peace, while writing.
  2. Everyone is pissing me off. Everyone. Everything. Argh…..I saw a ladybird yesterday and screamed at it for landing on my windscreen.  I then burst into tears because I’m a fucking nutbag pregnant bird.
  3. Farting. Non stop stinky farting.  It’s actually becoming a problem in small spaces, and while queuing at the supermarket.  If you ever see me in a lift, I suggest you wait for the next one unless you want to die by fume inhalation.  The Captain, a professional Farter, is actually sooo disgusted, he sometimes cries before leaving the room (from the stench, not emotion).
  4. Headaches that are constant.  These headaches are actually the worst part of being pregnant (aside from gradually turning into a mini elephant).  I had them last time and they’re getting worse.  This makes me even angrier and more of a bitch than normal.  Plus, you can’t take ANY fucking drugs that actually work, to sort these damn headaches out.  What am I left with?  PARACETEMOL (pointless if you ask a hardcore pill taker like myself) and cold patches for my forehead.  I may as well strap ice to my head with a tea towel, sing to the moon and dance around a fire to make the pain go.  God is definitely a Man.  Bastard.
  5. Nothing fits me and I don’t have enough maternity wear.  It’s really winding me up when I open my cupboard and nothing fits anymore.  If I have to borrow the Captain’s jeans again this pregnancy, I think I will kill myself.  I’m determined to keep the weight gain to a normal amount this time.  No more eating for 4 excuses and no more triples dinners and snacks.  I’m not talking about pregorexia but seriously, how the fuck did that stylist Rachel Zoe stay soooo skinny while pregnant?!  her arms were like sticks for crying out loud.  As for Victoria Beckham…. well, I like her actually, so I’m not going to bad mouth her. Aside from saying, how the fuck did she stay sooo well maintained during her pregnancy (ok, yes, aside from the millions, private chef and personal preener to keep her looking good at all times).  I currently feel like shit.  When my skinny jeans don’t fit me.  this makes me feel worse and then I decide the only thing to do is scream obscenities at the Captain.  Everythings his fault anyhow (I blamed the weather on him yesterday).
  6. I want to moan non-stop about anything. What the fuck’s that all about?  I was soo chilled and happy last time I was pregnant.  This time, I’m like a stereotypical hormonal crazy pregnant woman.  Oh, and I cry about everything.  Everything.  The toothpaste ran out this morning and I blubbered away for about 20 minutes.  I then cried some more in the car when I saw an advert for Pampers on the back of a van.  I think I threw a can of beans at it while driving.  I’m angry clearly.
Pro’s of pregnancy:
1. As a lifelong sufferer of insomnia, I’m actually tired by 9pm every night.  Another reason why I can’t write for shit as this was my sacred time to crack open some wine bottles (unless I’d had an all day drinking session) and write.  Now, I can’t keep my eyelids open long enough to watch E! Hollywood (I’m missing vital story lines for the Kardashians).
2. Oh and I’m creating a life.  Yes, I do know this and I’m not being an ungrateful bitch.  I’m having a moan (read above complaints if you’ve forgotten or already switched off with boredom).
Therefore my apologies in advance for any shitty scripture that is thrown your way over the next few months.  I’m clearly not high on anything at the moment which has challenged my fantastic writing abilities (I’m also wanking non-stop which is making me go blind. joke), although that will all change once I pop this sprog out.  In the meantime, I will have to deal with the shame of writing about crap until then.
It’s all the Captains fault.  Him and his damn happy Penis.


* Photo above taken of The Grand Canyon, USA, while in a Helicopter…trying not to be air sick.

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About Sharzad Hime-Michaels

A (40++) Punk “wannabe”. SW15 London born/bred, Kind (‘ish), Strict (normal) “parent“ of 3 children under 18 (twins included). Divorced. A great cook. Shockingly argumentative after 9pm on a Monday evening...

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