A Man Did This

I love margaritas, Jack Daniels and Coke with 4 limes and Marlboro Light 100’s.  I love to sleep in, watch hours of trashy TV and spend hundreds of dollars on random things at Target.  I love to book spur of the moment vacations and spend long nights out with friends.  I love to spend the entire day after a long night out in bed, wrapped in my down comforter, swearing off alcohol and cigarettes.  I love quad venti skinny vanilla lattes from Starbucks, even though they’re overpriced and have more espresso than 4 people need in one day. 

I will become a mother very soon and all of those things I love have become distant memories.  The cigarettes, which I know were a gross habit to begin with, have been gone since the second I found out I was in the family way.  The margaritas and Jack Daniels are only memories (very vibrant memories, still!).  The sleeping thing is difficult now, though I have to say, I got some great sleep the first three months of my pregnancy…in between the gagging at everything I smelled (which included my precious lattes).

Pregnancy is not all puppies and rainbows; I will probably be the first person to tell you the honest truth about that.  Before I got pregnant, everyone used to tell me how much they loved being pregnant, how they felt great and glowy and just so at peace.  That is a bunch of bullshit.  Don’t get me wrong, there are some pluses to pregnancy (the sleep!  the occasional pampering! the eating everything in sight with an “excuse”!) but there are a LOT of things that they won’t tell you about.  That’s where I step in.

I am no expert here, as this is my first (and maybe last!) go-round with pregnancy.  The purpose of this blog is to share with you my thoughts and anecdotes, as well as serve as a diary of sorts (in case my husband convinces me it’s time to try for baby number two).   This blog will also serve as my time capsule, so when my son, Emmett, is older and ripe for grounding and punishment, I can pull up my stories about my pregnancy rage (and other emotions) and pains (heartburn, the ‘roids, stretchmarks, etc.) to throw them back at him, just like my mother did to me.

You probably are thinking I’m going to be the worst mom in the world, simply because I don’t enjoy being pregnant, which is the furthest thing from the truth.  I can’t wait to meet my son, to hear him cry (this will probably be the last time you’ll ever hear me say that!) and watch him grow.  I am on the edge of my seat to find out if his eyes will be a beautiful blue-green like his fathers and if the old wives tales about heartburn are true and he will have a full head of hair.  I can’t wait to teach him things and spend time together as a family. 

Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way, stay tuned for more tales of what a man did to me.