So we’re getting to be that age. And by “that” age, I mean the weird span of 5-7 years where some of your friends start doing things like settling down and having babies while others (you) continue to binge drink on Tuesdays and measure your self worth through blog stats.
Don’t judge me.
Just keep reading.
I beg you.
ANYWAYS… one of my good friends back home got knocked up! And like….it wasn’t a mistake. How cool, right?! We were chatting about it today:
S: I still can’t believe you’re having a baby.
C: I know! It’s still pretty surreal. I don’t think it’ll hit me that I’m actually preggo until I feel it moving, cuz I’m still not really showing.
S: Yeah…THAT will be crazy.
C: I know. So weird.
S: Like…there’s gonna be a tiny human, man. IN YOUR BODY.
C: Yeah. GROWING INSIDE OF ME.
S: I wonder if you’ll get weird cravings. Cuz you already eat a lot.
C: I hope so. I haven’t yet. I feel so animalistic. Almost primal.
S: Like you’ve abandoned all social conditioning and will do anything to protect your cub?
C: No…that will probably come. More because of what my body is going through. My tits are so engorged right now, I don’t know what to do with them. And I’ve read that they LEAK in a couple months! I am an animal. They’re filling up with “practice milk” and according to my sister, the trick to getting them NOT to leak is putting cabbage in your bra! What’s worse, leaky tits or smelling like raw cabbage? Why couldn’t it be rose petals or something?
S: WTF? What are you, a pregnant carnie?
C: I know! And that’s not even the worst of it. I should expect my gums to bleed, various types of discharge, every appendage to swell, more body hair… oh! AND I GET REALLY FAT.
C: I’m no longer human, my friend. The next time you see me, I’ll have a trunk and horns. Pregnancy is not a beautiful thing. The only miracle will be if Joe still wants to be with me afterwards. When I think of myself at 8 months pregnant, I picture Ursula from The Little Mermaid.
Let that be a lesson to you all.
WRAP IT UP.
Happy Valentine’s Day.