Bloody Hell

I will throat punch any woman who says the following: "I enjoy(ed) being pregnant"... "Pregancy glow"..."Tiger stripes."

I'm not glowing or tan, my skin has revolted and it's chosen insurrection was to go leopard on my ass with giant brown melasma spots. My face now resembles who I find to be the most overrated artist Jackson Pollock's typical splatter painted canvas. 

They aren't tiger stripes, my tits have grown though not as giagantic as my areola's which now measure a three inch diameter. The "tiger stripes" are stretch marks that look nothing like a tiger stripe but much more like a plastic bag that stretched too much and is about to rip. The areola's, which is where Alice Walker got the inspiration for her book The Color Purple, have gone from a normal "white person nipple pink" are now a deep dark plum. Apparently the color change is to help the baby, but at this rate it may just scare him to look at the giant dark abyss that is my chest.

Speaking of nipples I get to have my third breast cancer check via ultrasound because these puppies have taken my love of vampire novels a little too seriously and aren't leaking milk, just blood. Primarily when I am in a white shirt. I think the white really draws the blood to the surface. And while every other unpleasant pregnancy symptom has seemingly been normal, like a crotch that feels like you have a chip clip hanging from it (you know, painful) to blurry vision to cankles, it turns out Bram Stoker boobs is less average and sort of a cause for alarm. 

I am excited to have a baby, but women really oversell the joys of pregnancy, and they probably have to. Just like any abusive relatiobnship you tell yourself "you just don't know the sweet side of him, he's normally not like this!" And this is an abusive relationship after all. My son is literally kicking me all day long (physical abuse), I am not sleeping (psychological torture), and whenever I want to complain I am told how lucky I am (manipulation). Of course this is sarcastic as a whole, that is my personality afterall, but honestly this experience has not been rainbows. And it's been hard to plan for a baby when my body (both mental and physcial) has been in turmoil for 8 months. I've been sick for weeks on end, I've been terrified my son has a brain issue, I've been in physical pain for months, and now I'm yet again worried about my own personal health while dealing with a guilt of "you better breast feed him because that is the best for the baby (and cheaper)."

So what I'm saying really is if Ikea doesn't restock the fucking Ivar cabinet already I will blow a gasket, because so many of my hormonal outbursts have been misdirected, so here's another one. Listen up you Swedish nightmare store, restock the eco friendly perfectly sized Ivar cabinet so I can take all this random baby shit out of my closet and put it away and nest like the fucking mom I'm about to be so I can give my kid the life I want him to have which is chock full of love and joy without letting him get full of priveldge so he's a well adjusted human who is kind to others and non-judgmental and looks back fondly on his childhood and life and can get married or have a career or what the fuck ever in between and won't need years or therapy or end up in prison. You restock it and I will pay your $50 fuck you shipping rate and aggresively assemble that perfectly proportioned wooden box with optional shelf and paint it like the Youtube designers I watch far too much of and I will set it in the fucking corner of my room while my nipple drips out blood and my stomach sweats from too much Vitamin E to help with stretch marks and my child kicks the shit out of my uterus and I use the stupid fucking allen wrench and put this forsaken box together before drilling it into my bedroom wall which I cannot patch the paint from because Sherwin Williams can't match paint despite technology existing that lets people have functioning prostic limbs that listen to their brain waves and perform actions but Sherwin Williams can't take a piece of my fucking wall and match a paint color to it so I better secure the Ivar cabinet right the first time because I can't move it after that and I don't want furniture to hurt my precious little baby who will not stop kicking me even as I type this!

To my future son, I love you dearly. You'll be worth it. But you also would have been worth the $100,000 for a surrogate. 

Love,

T