Sure, we hear about the hormones, wacky food cravings, and morning sickness, but there are a lot of things no one ever talks about when it comes to pregnancy. It's not all glowing skin, baby kicks, and butterflies, my friends. I hate to break it to you, but pregnancy is no fucking joke. Listen, every woman's story is different. For some it is a beautiful walk in the park filled with renewed energy and radiant sunshine. For others it sucks some major D (and not in a good way). For me? Well, I have good days and bad. But I do celebrate it all with, if nothing else, a giggle (as I hope you do too). For your enjoyment, I have compiled a list of 10 things I hate about me (or a bunch of shit they never tell you about pregnancy).
1. My Stretch Marks Have Stretch Marks
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I remember watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians one sad night when I had nothing else to do, but apparently self loathe. Kim exclaimed, "OMG Kourtney, I think you might have a stretch mark. How disgusting." Notice how there are no exclamation points because Kim is half robot/baby covered in vocal fry with zero human ability to feel true emotion. Since I had been keeping up with them, I knew that Kourtney was pregnant with her THIRD child. And you're telling me this bitch has zero stretch marks?! Damn. That is either a true miracle of childbirth or she made one helluva deal with the devil. Either way, bravo bitch. Because me over here? Well, I am pretty sure I graduated Pre-K with stretch marks. I mean, the human body is incredible and one should never underestimate it's abilities, but god damn! Who knew my body could stretch to such unimaginable lengths?! Or should I say, widths. I am just waiting for these bad boys to make an appearance on my double chin. But we'll get to that later. Don't even get me started on the attack of the spider veins crawling their way up my legs, stomach, and boobs.
2. I Have Burnt Pepperoni Nipples
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Oh yeah, it's true and don't even THINK about coming near them for a tasty treat. My once pink nipples have hombre'd into a peeling dark ash that occasionally leak and when cold or touched hurt like a mother fucker. Like daggers-in-my-chest painful. So beware. Shit gets weird. Fast. It's not cute.
3. How Soon Until I Get A Bed Sore? (Or, I May Be Getting A Bed Sore)
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I ask myself this question daily. I had no idea (until I had gone public with my doctor ordered modified bed rest) that I was not alone. Apparently it is quite common for women to be put on some sort of bed or pelvic rest during their pregnancy for varying reasons. Just no one ever really talks about it! I was overwhelmed with a sense of relief when friends, family, and even strangers reached out to me describing their similar situations. I no longer felt ashamed, but did have a major pain in my ass. Like literally. I have never sat so much in my life and my ass is paying for it. I carry a pillow around the house so I can sit comfortably and take breaks alternating my body weight from one cheek to the other. If that isn't sexy enough—wait a second—I can't have sex! I can't even seek my own personal relief if you know what I mean! No stimulation for this gal over here. Wouldn't want the uterus to contract or anything. Doctor's orders. Dear lord, give me strength.
4. I Am Obese
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Look, if you are like me you hate the word 'fat'. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I hate that fucking word. It's ugly and filled with nothing but negative connotations. What's worse? The medically accepted term for 'fat'—obese. I don't know which is worse! I have been chubby my whole life and FINALLY in my late twenties I started to embrace the chub. Now that I am preggers, every doctor visit, check up, sonogram, so on and so forth—I get the sweet pleasure of looking down at my chart to see the word OBESE thrown around like no-big-whoop. At my next appointment I am going to ask if they can refrain from using that word, "Would you mind just putting down my weight and if you MUST describe it, put something like 'pleasantly plump' or 'more cushion for the pushin' instead of O-to-the-Bese?" I think that'll work well, yeah?
5. My Dub Chin Is Too Legit To Quit
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Early in my pregnancy if people asked, "Are you showing?", I would reply, "Uh, yeah bitch-in my chin." I swear those first baby lbs. made their appearance straight up into my double chin. That, coupled with my newly prescribed modified bed rest, has me growing rings around my neck. Just like a mother fucking gift that keeps on giving. The constant downward tilt of lying more than standing has imprinted three spectacular rings that gravity can no longer hide. Am I glowing yet?
6. I Hate It When You Touch My Belly
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The only person I welcome to touch my belly is my husband. He has seen me naked and in spite of all my imperfections loves me unconditionally. He is the father of this nugget and he can caress this belly all he wants. Okay, that's a little harsh. You can touch my belly, but you must understand how personal it is to me. I have always hated—HATED—my stomach. It is the most sensitive, flabby, roly-poly part of my body. Here's another confession. I have a B belly. As opposed to a D belly. Picture it. Do you get it? So, my belly is not a perfectly round balloon of baby goodness. It's a dented version of that. Still all the goodness, just not as "pretty" as society makes you think all baby bumps are. So, yeah, I may be sensitive, but I'll make a deal with you. You can touch the top of the B, just don't go fishing around my belly button or below. I'll cut ya. You've been warned.
7. I'm Growing A Beard (As Opposed To Being The Beard)
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Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin! Except, (I had no idea) this is super common in pregnancy. Pregnancy hormones don't give a fuck! You want a baby? Okay, girl. I gotchu, but you get a beard too! Bam! Unlike Adele, I haven't named mine—yet—but I am sure this is just the beginning. You know what? Fuck it all. Braid it, throw some glitter on it and call it a day. #chinhairdontcare
8. My Name Is Tina And It Hurts To Poop
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My ass is pooped. 'Nuff said.
9. Everything Hurts
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Seriously, I just cannot get comfortable. My neck, my back, my p*ssy, and my crack—yes Khia—it all aches, cramps, strains, and pains. At night I am like a drunken walrus violently snoring and changing positions from side to side seeking comfort. Someone once asked me if I was happy not getting my period anymore. As if now I don't have to deal with those pesky monthly cramps. Hahaha! I laugh at you. Imagine having your period every damn day. Well, minus the bleeding. (So, I guess I am saving money on tampons!) Anyway, That's how I feel. Bloated, swollen, hungry, irritable, crampy, tired, achey, but glowing. I'm always glowing. Uhhuh. Yep. Definitely glowing.
10. I Lost All My Fucks To Give
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I just don't give a fuck. And if you have been an asshole to me, I have no problem letting you know. This is new for me. Pregnancy unleashed my censor. If I feel wronged, taken advantage of, put down, talked down to, mistreated—if I sense any sort of cuntography—I refuse to stand for it. I have enough problems to worry about (see 1-9). I truly believe this is some sort of primal-mamma bear-mother nature-shit that has me marking my territory. As I cook up this baby, I must too clean up house. So, as I dust the bullshit from my life, I am finally beginning to breathe some fresh air.
No, for me pregnancy is not a walk in the park. I feel battled and bruised, but I have never been happier. Feeling my son kick, drum, and dance from within has given me a whole new courageous outlook on life. One that is beautiful and filled with nothing but possibilities. Maybe I had no idea what I was getting into, but I wouldn't change it for the world.