I Worry. A Lot.

I worry about shit that people wouldn’t even think to worry about. My mind goes a mile a minute and sometime I ask J to just not talk to me for like 30 minutes so I can think (and worry) about shit. I know that’s weird, but whatev. All this worrying does not mix well with being a crazy pregnant person.

Obvs you know I’m totally stressed out about people visiting us in the hospital which ended in a huge fight since fat Brad thinks he’s on the “A list” of visitors. I also may or may not have thrown an entire gallon of milk on the floor because I’m effing crazy and I get so frustrated. In the moment I’m like fucking King Kong or some shit and about to swing from the ceiling fans and afterward when you’re cleaning up all that milk, you’re like “Who am I?”. I wish I was capable of rational thoughts in those moments because I would have much rather thrown a loaf of bread or something. Waaay easier clean up. Then again bread doesn’t quite make the same statement as milk. But anyway.

On my list of today’s worries are whether or not Dr. Potato Head will think when he lifts up my shirt and sees this.

(And it's worse in person)

I’m pretty sure if I act surprised too he will just tell me it’s because I’m pregnant and it will go away when I deliver the baby. I sort of want to try it and not confess that it’s actually sunburn. You know, just to see if he would chalk it up to being fat/pregnant. Because let me tell you, if you’re not pregnant yet don’t even bother asking your doctor about anything you think is weird or unusual because he and the nurses will just tell you that it’s pregnancy related.

Like when I got a rash on my elbow pits, it was “pregnancy related”. It did go away but that’s beside the point. Or a few appointments ago when I tried to explain that it literally felt like there was something coming out of my vagina because there was constantly this pressure on my gina. Well I knew this one was pregnancy related but they didn’t even check anything out to see if I was right. Not that I want them down there or anything, I’m not a perv but it just felt weird and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t trying to escape. Turns out that the baby can be in a “footling” position or some crap and a foot really can stick out from down there. I know because there was an illustration in “What to Expect”. Like, what do I do? Put an effing sock on it so her foot doesn’t get cold?

And because some of you asked I will post the most disgusting pictures of me known to man here since I love you. I do not love the person who posted and tagged me in them for the damn world to see on effing Facebook. Damn Cougster. Up until she forced me to take pictures I have avoided pregnancy photos of myself except for my sneaky FIL.

(Probably not the best idea to stand, in your swimsuit, between the two smallest people there. Don't do what I do.)

Oh and the worst part is that I have been totally walking around thinking I’m this petite little pregnancy person who has gained like 20 lbs and can still fit into her non-preggo clothes with the exception of one pair of pregnancy pants and a top. It didn’t help my inflated ego that people kept telling me how small I was and I do not look 34 weeks pregnant. THEY LIED. After seeing these pictures apparently I was fat before I got pregnant and now I just look fatter. And why the in the hell is my face always the one to gain first? Why didn’t J tell me that my blue shirt is working really hard for me these days? Oh and a little tidbit of advice, do yourself a favor and just buy a new damn swimsuit even if you’re convinced it’s a waste of money for only two times and you look fine in your pre-pregnancy suit. I thought that and turns out, the blue shirt isn’t the only one working hard to stay on. I suppose it’s not the big of an effing deal, I’m pregnant, what did I expect? Oh right, to look like Gisele Bunchen. That deceiving bitch.