Maybe it’s a little hard to believe, but I don’t really have anything to complain about.
You’re probably thinking, or saying aloud right this very moment, “Excuse me Willis, could you please repeat that?”
Except instead of Willis, maybe you say Jen. Since that is my name.
It’s so much easier for me to blog when I am pissy and annoyed. It’s so much more comical, in my opinion, when I am neurotic and stressed and exposing my Lady Business for all of Northeast Ohio.
And maybe you can seal these words up in plastic wrap (so that they are fresh when I eat them later), but right now I am just really excited. And happy...?
Excuse me Willis, Could You Please Repeat That?
Yes, friends, I think I may be getting a little less neurotic about this pregnancy, and a little more convinced that I am going to eventually give birth to an actual human being and not just a giant gas bubble (Congratulations, it’s a fart!) or a helium balloon.
That sounds fairly smug.
I’m excited for my appointments, instead of dreading the inevitable news that woe! Bad things have happened!
I haven’t shown a medical professional my vagina in…weeks? Surely, the world is ending.
I can chat up a fertile pregnant lady without an eye twitch or sweaty brow, and I can (mostly) ignore the obnoxious remarks that would once make me seethe with anger.
I’m buying unfun things like diapers and wipes when I go to the grocery store.
I read an entire pregnancy book. And nothing bad happened!
Am considering a change in my URL – www.smugepper.com (Am not responsible for anything that comes up if you click on that link and something really disgusting happens. I haven’t checked. I’m just saying…)
So the entire point I am making here is that I don’t know if I’m a very stellar blogger when I am happy and excited. I don’t feel compelled to post more than once a week when I post my belly pic (but I will post week 14 later this week). Nobody likes a blogger who posts random crap just to post and get comments, myself included.
The only complaints I have had lately involve being too fat for my clothes, and thus having very few things to wear. And I have been promptly told by a couple readers to shut the eff up, with one person telling me that I have no right to complain about being fat, because she has PCOS and is thus fatter than I. (or me, whichever is proper.)
Since I have no problem with my ever expanding waistline, and also would like to avoid a “who is fatter, who is skinnier” compliment begging contest, I will quit complaining about my lack of wardrobe options and will just buy bigger clothes. I have no desire to be the pregnant person who complains about being fat, and even though that was never really what I was saying, I would like to no make my readers feel murder-y.
As far as we’re all concerned, I am a sacred vessel and have a beautiful bowl of jelly that is about 10% baby, 70% noxious gasses, and 20% McDonalds Grease and Easy Mac.
I make no promises to quit complaining about the VPL (visible panty line, if you live under a rock). It’s a growing epidemic.