I Hate Fall Part 2

 A few years have passed since I last ranted on the autumnal season. There was a weekend in September this year when I mildly liked fall, but that moment was as brief as a falling leaf. You never see Jennifer Lopez walk a red carpet in a Alexander McQueen dress of red, yellow, orange, and green. That's because those colors clash and it looks like shit. So a valley of mismatched colors is not exactly a breathtaking moment for me. 

With autumn carries elections, which if you live in an overall intelligent country that wants the best for their fellow countrymen, then it shouldn't be a stressful endeavor. So it's probably fun in Iceland. However as more people proliferate life in the middle of the U.S. an area best known for their vigorous love of slavery, racism, and Confederate flags, election brings stress. 

But the biggest issue of fall for me this year has been pregnancy. The gift of life. The miracle of birth. A sex trophy. The ovaries chance to be more than just a bloody pain. Nothing makes me happier than feeling sick for the entire day. And I am thankful I am having a baby. But man this journey sucks. I have told each doctor I plan to have one child, then cash out some stock and stimulate the economy with a surrogacy. Most tell me I will have mamma amnesia after the first and want to do it again. They don't know me. I am a woman of my word. When Cary Spiers (name not changed because she's a bitch) wanted me to squish a red tree berry in between my hands in the first grade and I refused (screw your peer pressure) everyone thought I would remain friends with her or make amends. And 25 years later those people are still wrong. I remember gripping my grandma's green shag rug in the basement bathroom throwing up when I had a stomach flu and vomitting up a fruit roll up. I have not looked at a fruit roll up the same since. I read a 900 page book out of spite. And liked it. I researched literacy rates of athletes and wrote an essay to prove a point to an ex boyfriend. I went to a different country to one up someone. I got my cunty coworkers dream job so she couldn't and fucking nailed it. Hell has no fury like a bitch with her mind made up. So when I say I'll get a surrogate for the next child, there is really no reason to doubt me. 

The nausea just emphasizes my hatred of this dark dreary time of year. I am quite sure I have pre-natal depression, or maybe this is just the broken allusion of years of television of women and their happy pregnancy. As my nipples appraoch the size of a stop-light and my skin becomes a topographic map of Hawaii I can't help but think I've been lied to by men my entire life. The men around me have been the most supportive of my pregancy. And why not? They don't have to deal with any of this crap. The men are thrilled at the pregnancy. My husband likes looking at the ultrasound pictures of what looks to me like a melted Haribo gummy bear. I wonder if I am supposed to get teary eyed for the ultrasound technician or mention that it's creepy I currently have a penis or vagina inside of me. 

I am not excited to get fat and feel kicking from within my body. I already feel the movement of gas in my stomach on a daily basis. I can pretend its a foot, but gas seems more appealing actually. I'm not excited to have a baby suck on my tits. If I'm that hard pressed for that feeling my boobs are big enough and my tongue long enough I can accomplish a wet lick solo dolo. I am excited for a child, but this process just seems overly arduous. 

Pregnancy as it turns out is just an extended fall. It's a dark stressful time in my life that everyone just seems stoked about and I can't help but feel let down, tired, and over it. But as fall ends and brings on winter, so this hellscape of the first trimester should bring on the second. Everyone says it's a magical time, but everyone so far has been full of shit. We'll see.