Scraping The Bottom of the Barrel of My Dignity--Tastes Like Frosting!

The pregnancy cravings of myth and legend were a large part of my decision to get knocked up. I mean, if I can't drink, and I'm going to get funny-shaped anyway, what is stopping my indulgence?  Sadly, the bizarre pickle-raw egg combos or whatever I was expecting never materialized.  Much like my enormous D-cup bra, no magic has happened in that department.  I will admit to a growing sweet-tooth but that's not too unusual, right?
Have you ever watched the show Intervention, and the addicts are just going about their normal day-to-day lives and the black screen comes up and it reads something like "Jonny spends up to $6,000 a day on meth" and you're like HOLY SHIT! How does it get that bad? Well, I'll tell ya what happens.
Yesterday I walked in to the Weis market here in town, the awesomest, grossest, center of all scum-baggary, grocery store ever.  In a bit of a hurry, I knew I needed 2 things.  A salad (HOW this place has the best salads in the area I will never know- or question), and cookies with just the right cookie-to-frosting ratio.  I spotted what seemed to me to be slightly over the top, sugar-wise, but relatively harmless.  The item in question was a package of 6 sandwiches made up of chocolate chip cookies and about 4 lbs of frosting.  The counter girl's reaction should have tipped me off.
As I was checking out, Crystal, so smug behind the counter, said to me in a shaming tone "those look reallly sweet".  It's not like I was at Whole Foods for Christ's sake, I was surrounded by people who call Hawiian Punch "juice" and smoke cigarettes while filling their children's baby bottles with Mountain Dew.  Somehow I'm out of line?  Lookit, Crystal, these aren't for you.  They are for my soon-to-be diabetic fetus.  I won't ask how you lost your teeth, you don't need to worry about how I'm gonna lose mine.
I got my treasure home and ate one, followed by the other half of Matt's that he couldn't finish.  Still thinking I don't have a problem, I schemed further.  If Matt was going to judge my cookie intake, along with Crystal, I knew one person who would be down for a nice sugar rush.  My 7 year old niece Reilly.  This kid is truly a connoisseur of all things sweet.  She's got all the bakeries in town ranked.  You want a party with hookers and blow? You're gonna call Charlie Sheen.  More of a frosting and sprinkles kind of person?  Yeah, give this kid a call.  Doing my best to act casual, like her mind wasn't about to be blown, I offered her a cookie.  As expected, her eyes popped out of her head.  She was PUMPED.  Awesome, I thought, an excuse to eat another cookie and the chance to be someone's unquestioned hero.  I devoured mine in about 30 seconds, not counting the time it took to lick my fingers.  I looked up and Reilly is done for! She couldn't finish hers!  "These are sooo good I can't finish mine" she said.  This child, who eats whipped cream on bacon is telling me that I over did it?  The last green thing she ingested was likely a Skittle. Chicken fingers are her main source of nutrition. And I out junk-fooded her?  This, my friends, is how dabbling a little in a substance, any substance, can lead from a casual "I think I'd like some ice cream for dessert" indulgence to smoking stolen meth on the way to rehab abuse.  I have tasted that shame.  Its fucking delicious. And if you are interested, sold along the walls in the bakery section of Weis.

You Want Me to WHAT?

After a few months have passed it is finally time for me to admit to myself that I am no longer just a little-bit pregnant.  The weeks are flying by and June is going to be here in no time.  I had to muster enough courage to skip to the end of the baby How-To manuals. I wished I'd had a few cocktails for that one.  Spoiler alert: they all end the same.  And it looks like it sucks.  First off, there are these illustrations of what a breech baby looks like all squished up inside of there.  It looks painful for all of us.  Especially the one called Footling breech.  In this jolly little illustration, junior has what appears to be one whole leg thrust down the birth canal.  Now...I'm no doctor but that shit just don't look right.  Underneath the diagram there were all these horrible words like "incision" and "abdominal muscles" so I just threw up and skipped to the next page.  A picture of a baby's head with something stuck to the top.  This one read "vacuum extraction" skip skip skip..."Mucus Plug", turn the page, "Not Getting to the Hospital in Time", not an option, I am hereby moving into my car in the parking lot..."Episiotomy"...what's that.  Oh Jesus.  Is there any part of this whole ordeal that isn't disgusting?  This business is downright offensive!  The only thing borderline pleasant in the whole Revelation chapter of What to Expect is the facial expression drawn on the laboring woman.  Well, the one you can see.  She's easy enough to find: she appears to be the first woman of color to make her appearance in the manual and she and her partner look happy as hell to be there.  I wonder who they modeled her after?  Can I call her and ask what her secret was? Maybe she hadn't read the last chapter yet.  Or maybe her hospital has a bar.  Either way, I hope that I look that delusional and relaxed when the time comes.  I know I won't, but here's to hoping.

Aww Thanks! I Don't Think You're That Fat Either!

Turns out that when you are pregnant, especially visibly pregnant, everyone knows that now they can safely comment on your figure.  I know people are just excited, as I keep saying, and really must believe that they are saying kind things to me.  Somehow.  I just can't think of another time in a woman's life when her shape is truly up for open debate. Except for maybe the Miss America pageant or The Biggest Loser.  I, however, am not a cripplingly terrifying beauty contestant, nor am I a willing participant in a nation wide fat-shaming orgy of humiliation.  Just a waitress, showing up for her normal job. 
Now I'm a thin gal.  I was blessed with good genes, mercifully, because I rank up there among the laziest people I know.  Like everyone else, I can pack on a few pounds here or there but I try not to complain about weight as many people have legitimate struggles with fitting into the beauty standards packaged and sold to us by the evil powers that be such as the afore mentioned Biggest Loser (I mean, even the name!).  Somehow, now that I have a teeny baby belly poking out, people seem to have alllll sorts of opinions they would like to share with me.
"Oh look at you! You're so skinny! You won't have any trouble at all losing the weight! Not like I did after Alec was born.  I gained Eight Hundred and Ninety pounds!"...as I'm standing there holding dirty dishes.  What do I say to make this stop?  "oh.  Neat. Um, sorry you got so ungodly fat.  You look better now?  Dessert tonight? Coffee?"
And the there is the occasional "You're HUGE!  You must be just about ready to have that thing huh? Oh my god! What are you gonna look like in 4 months?!"  I'm what? I am?! I'm huge? I didn't think so but Lord! This isn't a "fat" thing...there is a baby in there that's gonna come out.  I mean, come out of me! Stop saying the word "huge"!  You're mean!  And Stupid and I hate you now!
So when does it stop? Like, after D-day will it all just come to an end?  Will people clam up and resume silently commenting on my waistline? I really wouldn't mind that at all.  Maybe I should just start saying all the things that go on in my head. "It took me forever to lose all the baby weight!" Yeah, obviously.  "You haven't gained a pound! Really, how much have you put on?" Aww, thank you! I don't think you're too fat either! about 5 lbs. How about you?  I mean, come on! All the world needs is more commentary on women's weight.  I'm not terribly concerned about it so why should the causal observer be?  I'm sure they are all trying to be complimentary, and many people have succeeded in coming across as sincere and kind.  You know what they say that makes me feel the best? "Hi Sarah! How are you? You look great.  I'll have the dinner special".