“I need Sonic NOW!” “I’ve got hair growing where?” “Sorry I threw up on you…”

So by now, everyone knows I’m pregnant. Yes, I was even knocked up at our wedding (scandalous I know!). I am prefacing this post with of course, I am excited and yes, I realize what a blessing and miracle this pregnancy is.

But truth of the matter is – I feel like complete dog crap. It has not been fun. For all of you moms who have felt great and amazing and pregnancy is the best thing ever (yes MOM and my best friend Jules)…you guys are not on my top 10 list right now. No offense taken please, but I’d just rather not talk to you for the next six months.

Besides the morning sickness (who the hell came up with that name – it is more like morning, noon and night progesterone poisoning) and christening every highway in Tulsa County (as well as several public restrooms); I’ve had about every other symptom (plus some) known to pregnancy womankind.

Not one to complain (oh hell, who am I kidding), but my already volatile state of being has now reached a new level of psychotic. My husband looks at me cross-eyed and I burst into tears. My children preface everything with “Is mommy going to yell at us? She sure is grumpy.” Then there are my irrational tirades when my husband can’t whip out a Taco Bell burrito out of thin air. Let alone the fact that I’m already scatterbrained enough – my baby (aka “brain sucker”) has now made it nearly impossible for me to complete a thought and find my wallet. Today I forgot to buckle my child’s car seat. (Oops, guess I shouldn’t be admitting this in public – but he quickly reminded me before we got out of the driveway…).

My face looks like an oil factory gone haywire – back to my insecure days as an acne-faced teenager. Hair is growing in places I just really don’t think it should be – and none of my bodily functions are working properly (think teenage boy). My son told me today that my bottom was getting big (checking into therapy tomorrow).

While I thought my growing chest was going to be a plus – it turns out to be a big fat pain in the rear as well. If anyone comes within five feet of them, I wince in pain. I am bulging out of all my bras and it is not a pretty sight. They itch, hurt and wake me up every time I roll over. I am thinking my hubby likes them – but he is learning just to keep his mouth shut for the next few months.

To sum it up, I am pretty much a bloated, greasy, gassy, hairy walking bag of hormones with big boobs. But hey, it’s only nine months (ANOTHER lie, it is really ten). After all is said and done, I know it will all be worth it. However, I am saving this post for my child when he/she is a rebellious teenager so I can make them feel guilty about what I went through.

And my survival technique for the next few months? Just have one word. ZOFRAN

This entry was posted in Uncategorized by marniefernandez. Bookmark the permalink.

About marniefernandez

Official kid wrangler of four. Step mom, adoptive mom & bio mom. City girl turned country bumpkin. Small town girl next door married to Hollywood sniper/moto-cross/ninja architect. Career girl turned stay-at-home mom with baby on hip. Permanent taxi-cab driver, schedule organizer and professional laundress. (When not chasing kids...) Mommy blogger, columnist, travel writer and consultant. And no, I don't sleep. And yes, I take Prozac. And drink wine from sippy cups.

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