Dear beautiful pregnant friend,
Look how cute you are with your sweet little basketball belly and that nubbin of a button poking through your fitted maternity shirt. Isn’t it sweet, that pregnancy glow? I’m sorry it’s about to end.
The thing is, my dear friend, they (whoever they are) don’t tell you everything. In fact, they don’t tell you shit, so lucky for you, I’ll give it to you straight. A few things you should know before that rib kicking uterus invader escapes:
- If you deliver your baby from your vagina, be prepared that sitting for at least a week is almost completely off limits. You are swollen and possibly stitched. You just squeezed a baby through a tiny little slit, and said slit will be very angry. In fact, your vagina will be screaming in rebellion at the turmoil you’ve just put her through. Thankfully you have me, and I’ve been there with the same obnoxious vagina. They may tell you about sits baths while your legs are still spread on the table as your doctor stitches up your taint. Take them as often as you can. They will help. Kind of. The hospital is going to give you these very ugly mesh panties along with what appears to be a year supply of horse pads. Take those bitches home with you. Have your baby’s daddy buy CVS’s entire supply of Tuck’s pads and place them near your toilet. Every time you pee, place as many tucks pads on that giant horse pad so that you can then feel the sweet relief that comes when you cool down your pissed off labia. This is the closest thing you’re going to have to an orgasm for a while.
- Remember when you said something about how awful your last period was? *laughs maniacally* You don’t know bad yet, darling. You see, you’re about to bleed for eternity, or at least it will feel like it, and it’s a lot of blood, a never ending red sea into a horse pad. Be prepared to ruin panties, clothes, and even furniture. There is no maxi pad equipped to absorb that much liquid, and again, if aforementioned baby came out of your vagina, nothing can go in for at least six weeks. It’s scary because it’s true.
- After angry vagina begins to feel normal again, you might notice that it doesn’t look the same. That once pretty seductive temptress will never look the same. You should probably take a picture of your pretty vagina before you deliver that precious baby just so you can remember it and mourn its once lush attractiveness. In fact, if I could go back, I would hire a professional photographer to take photos of spread eagle me and have my pretty kitten displayed all over my house. As art work. Have you seen a turkey waddle? You will. Soon. I’m sorry.
- You know how your boobs are perky and full? Go ahead and have that photographer take a few shots of those cute little melons while he’s there. Because they get even more full. Porn star full. Or engorged. Whatever. Then they get unfull. Very unfull. Deflated balloons. Imagine what it looks like when you put a mandarin orange in a tube-sock. Hold it up, and let it dangle there. Meet your post baby boobs. But before they deflate, you’re going to put them through a whole new hell you’ve never known, should you choose to breastfeed. (If you don’t, that’s okay even if your mom and your Aunt Mildred think otherwise.) Your nipples, now surrounded by giant silver dollar sized areolas which now resemble the color of that giant glass of Malbec you’re drinking just to maintain sanity, will ache and burn and often feel like razors escaping through your skin. Sometimes they will leak. Sometimes during award ceremonies while you’re on stage wearing a nude colored dress. Or while you’re shopping at Target. Either way, it’s normal. It happens to all of us. You might also experience what’s called a clogged milk duct. Discomfort doesn’t even begin to describe this experience, but as my mom and your mom and our grandmothers have always said, this too shall pass. Even if it passes slowly. And painfully.
- Having a baby is a very emotional time. You might cry when he’s born. You might not, and that’s okay. You’re going to cry a lot. For no reason. Possibly because you haven’t slept more than fourteen straight minutes since the child descended from your formerly contoured abdomen. You might be experiencing baby blues (which are totally normal). Perhaps you’re just mourning that pretty pink vagina and those cute perky boobs with tiny areolas. It’s okay to cry. You and the baby can compete. It goes away, your crying not his. You won’t be an emotional mess forever, and eventually, you’ll even figure out what the shit the kid is crying for and possibly be able to fix it.
It sounds pretty bad, huh? This whole parenting thing? It isn’t. Aside from a turkey waddle and sleepless nights, it’s the best experience life can give you. You made a person, a precious little breathing person.
You are a goddamned superhero. A rock star. A legend.
There’s no greater gift than that precious baby in there kicking you in the ribs. He’s going to make you laugh, make you cry, make you proud, and drive you crazy, and you’re going to love almost every minute of it. Congratulations, and welcome to the club. Gobble gobble.
P.S. You’ll forget all about these things and want to do it again. Maybe.