There’s a point when you’re blogging where you have to decide whether to let it all out on the page, or hold some personal stuff back that might be too incriminating/embarrassing – to myself or others – or get people I love fired or laughed at or knived. I imagine writers who publish their memoirs go through the turmoil of this internal debate (I of course also imagine myself as a famous memoirist, ignoring the fact that only 3 or so people read my blog. Love you Mom!) When do you cross the line into cringe territory? Is poo taking it too far? What about privates? Can I make fun of my friends and family without them getting pissed?
Who knows. I’m too tired and bitchy and fat and pregnant to care. So eff it. We’ll just see what comes out.
Speaking of what’s coming out…
So I was sitting in the bathroom a few weeks ago contemplating my weight gain. (I was in direct line sight of the scale while sitting there and dreading the ‘come to Jesus’ moment.)There was a point in those extremely short few months last year that I wasn’t pregnant, that a FB friend had posted about how she had only gained 7 pounds in her second pregnancy “because she was chasing after her toddler.” Various of her friends commented, many saying how lucky she was, etc etc. I myself got all self-righteous on her ass, and looked up a couple of articles about Mommyrexia, this trend where obnoxious pregnant ladies are trying to stay thin, and posted about how when you’re pregnant, you should be caring about having a healthy baby and not how little weight you’ve gained, you narcissistic and careless bitches! (well… that was my tone.) Of course, I’m so transparent.
I obviously was trying to deflect from the fact that I gained 50 pounds last time contributable to all those damn Lucky Charms and couldn’t fathom how it was possible to look GOOD while pregnant, and since I couldn’t, then no one else should be able to, or else you get the wrath of my judgement!
Thus continued my potty contemplation. Now here I am pregnant again, and pissed because I never lost the last 10 pounds or so, frankly because sweating to me would be worse than getting licked from head to toe by the guy from Nickelback, which means that if I carry on this time like I did last time I could get close to breaching 200 pounds, and like hell if I’m gonna let that happen, so why is it that I’ve already gained 10 and I’m still in my first trimester?
Then I had two brilliant thoughts. Here’s the first. If I sit here long enough I might actually be able to lose a couple of pounds. How do I ensure that instead of my normal pregnancy state of extreme constipation, I can up the ante and shed some stuff? I remember on Howard Stern quite a few years ago there was a guy named Dr. Doody, who got all the Stern people to use his colon cleanse product. They all claimed they lost like 15 pounds of old poo! And the Howard Stern show is nothing if not reputable. This could be the answer.
The second thought was, I wonder how much my hair weighs? I wonder, in fact, that if I cut it off into the Mom Bob I’ve been desperately wishing for, I would actually lose a few superfluous and undesired pounds?
Excited about my new approach, I disembarked and got to work. (Thus are the musings of a deranged pregnant person, whose mind is as out of control as her body. My children’s health and well-being; the happiness of my husband; disconnected men in Washington debating what it’s like to be a woman; KONY 2012 – all equally…nay, more deserving of the precious few brain cells left floating in my noggin. But this is what grabs me.)
Searching around on the internet, I discovered several interesting things. A) there are a lot of real doctors with the last name of Doody. How embarrassing! Several of them were actual pediatricians. How you do that job without changing your name is a lesson in courage I must learn from these heroes. B) There are more than a few websites dedicated to poop. Some are of the foul sexual deviant variety, but some are funny without being totally disgusting, and some are actually helpful for people with poop-related issues. One called the Poop Report (I linked it for all you miscreants who’d like to check it out) claims to be all about the intellectual appreciation of the stuff. “The #1 source for #2.” Huh. C) Colon cleanses are not recommended for pregnant people. Well, shit.
Plan B: Mom bob! I rush to make an appointment, knowing that this could be the answer to all of my dilemmas – I could lose a pound or two, reclaim my youthful beauty with a stylish new ‘do, and solve my ‘getting ready in the morning’ problem (the problem being that I’m too lazy to get ready.)
One awful haircut later, I realize the flaw in my logic. Unless you have hair like my husband, i.e. yarn-like strands of abnormally luscious locks – which I do not – it doesn’t weigh enough to make even the slightest difference. Also, the ease and stylishness of a Mom bob is a horrible myth that needs to die now and forevermore. I see now that as my belly (and ass) grows, I need the voluminous hair to balance out my distorted shape. Short hair just makes you (by “you” I mean “me”) look like a bloated pinhead. And now I have to blowdry with a flippin’ roundbrush the entire head of hair, which has actually increased my getting ready time exponentially to the point of impossibility. So I currently rely on a headband and scrunchy, even for date night. (After pulling my hair back into this new awesome style and running errands, my babysitter arrives to tell me how disheveled and tired I look. “You poor thing, your hair’s all sticking out.” That’s…perfect.)
After all the fuss, I’m still where I left off. Only slightly worse, I suppose, because now my hair sucks. My only alternative is to watch what I eat and exercise, which is about as likely as getting Nickelback man to give me a tongue bath, so I should just give up and give in now. Lucky Charms, anyone?