You think National Geographic is bad?

I don’t like blood and gore, children, or the smell of bleach. As a matter of fact, I’m such a complainer that I could probably write a book thicker than the dictionary on things I do not like. But those three things make up Chapter one.

Before I continue, allow me to give a small warning:

If you are a mother, if you are pregnant, if you think childbirth is the most beautiful thing on the planet, or if you are Octomom...you might not want to read this. If you are a man, you might not want to read this. If you are my mother, The Grandmother, or a member of the department of social services...I urge you to turn away before it’s too late.

Now that everyone is gone, let’s begin.

I hated pregnancy. HATED it. Of course it stripped me of all my happy vices in one fell swoop. Cigarettes? Gone. Pot? See ya. Alcohol? Buh bye!

That is not to say I didn’t love the kid in utero, I did... eventually. I just wish she could have popped out of a cabbage patch rather than my vagina, complete with cute outfit, plastic shoes, and certificate of authenticity.

The first few months were mostly fine because I ignored the “goings on”. Getting out of the shower and muttering to myself in the mirror about “eating that fucking basket of teriyaki wings and half of that goddamned pie” was my way of denial. And wearing hoodies.

One night, right before I finally told everyone I was knocked up, I met a guy. I was hanging out with friends from work when he approached me. We started chatting and he was insanely nice and good looking, and come to find out a few hours later, insanely wealthy.

That night when we left, my friends gave me the scoop. His family was very well-to-do and he owned several prosperous businesses in the area. I was already interested before I found out he was loaded, that was a bonus.

But no, not really. Because when I got home that night and did my shower, stand in the mirror and mutter about wings and pie routine, I just couldn’t deal. I couldn’t pretend anymore.

At first I was sad because now, not only would I not get the chance to spend his money, I wouldn’t get to fuck him either. I don’t care what you’ve heard about men wanting to fuck pregnant women...forget it, unless you’re married or in a relationship. That’s not to say that there aren’t some weirdo perverts out there that have this life long dream to put a dent in a baby’s head or have strange bragging rights. I’m talking about normal men.

And do you know what sucks REALLY bad? Pregnant women are off the charts horny. At least for awhile. When I wasn’t thinking about stupid teriyaki wings, I was thinking about sex. It was fucking miserable. Kind of like how things are now, come to think of it. Just without the bun in there, slowly baking.

Anyway...so I was sad. And then I got angry.

I was living alone at the time. (Well, if I’m being technical it was me, my fetus, and my special ed cat named Nugget. Named so because he ate an entire bag of some of the best pot I’d ever gotten my hands on when he was a kitten.) There was a lot of throwing things and a lot of “FUCK MY LIFE’S” going on, when the kid started kicking. Of course, that’s when I broke down and was all “Fuck my life, but now I should probably stop being a retard and tell people this isn’t fat, it’s fetus” crying sort of deal.

I told the people at work a few days later. Right before, as it turns out, the wealthy hot dude came to visit me. Thankfully, I didn’t have to tell him myself. Sigh. The rich one that got away.

I was working as a waitress, having left my old comfy job. Getting knocked up by the boss will do that to ya. But it was probably one of the most awesome jobs I’d ever had. It’s where I met my best friend and several other people I’m still in touch with.

It’s also where I found the worst roommate in the history of roommates. And that is saying some shit, because I once lived in a three bedroom house with 5 other people in the ghetto and one of them liked to walk around naked and invite gangs of hoodrats back from the local Little Cricket gas station, one of which was a really scary black man with dreadlocks and a glass eye that actually tried to stab me with a knife. Yeah, I’m serious.

But this story isn’t about my psycho roommates or hoodrats. It’s about me, me, me. So, skip some drama, skip some bitch slapping, and skip to the part where I quit my job and moved back in with my parents.

My mom had been harassing me to move back so she could “help take care of you and the baby”. (This has since turned into “get the fuck out, but when you do be sure to leave the kid”.)

I became a fucking lunatic.

It was like George Foreman, Martha Stewart, and Hitler all possessed me at once. If I wasn’t grilling meat, baking cakes, scrubbing some obscure corner of the house, or barking orders...I was obsessively doing word finder puzzles. I have no idea why, but I bought them in huge books and took them everywhere. Can’t stand them now, of course.

Once I decided I was going to change bedrooms and there was no one there to help me but my 80lb little sister. I was determined to move every single piece of furniture in that house and if anyone tried to stop me, by gawd, I’d sit on them.

I believe they call it nesting.

I have no idea where I found the strength I had that day, but I lifted an entire bed frame, my sister only balancing the other end, over the bar that separates the kitchen and the living room because I didn’t want to take it apart. I shoved dressers and lifted tables. By the time my mom came home I was triumphant and pissed off.

Everything smelled of bleach. I poured it on anything in my path. I would have poured it on the animals too, but no one would let me. Now I can’t even be near the stuff.

Do you believe me now when I say pregnancy sucks? You’re large, moody, and think you’re Two Men and a Truck...which causes you back problems later in life. What is beautiful about that? But wait for it....it’s not over yet.

My OB/GYN was fantastic. He was a tall, older man and he wore the most adorable glasses I’d ever seen. He was always smiling, always making jokes, and made me feel comfortable.

However, you can only be so comfortable with someone ALWAYS up in your stuff. I suppose if you’re a teenage girl you’d like it...forever getting fingered and all that. But I was over that stage in my life. Fingering was so three years ago.

The Grandmother insisted on driving me to every doctor’s appointment. Those were some of the longest car rides of my life. I made the mistake of allowing her back to see an ultrasound once. She asked the doctor so many ridiculous questions and embarrassed me so much that I refused to let her come again.

Before long I was a little past a week overdue. I’d been to the doctor’s office every week for the past month.

On this particular day I waddled in with my mom in tow, miserable and cranky due to lack of breakfast. It was around 11am. The doctor came in, checked me out, gave me a grin and said, “Well then, if you’ll go on over to the hospital I think it’s alright to induce labor today.”

Today? TODAY! FUCK YES TODAY! Let’s get this sucker cleared out!

“That’s great! I’ll just go home and get my bag, grab some lunch and...”


“Oh no, you should go on over. Someone else can bring your bag. And you can’t eat anything.”

I fixed him with my pregnant woman death-ray glare. “What do you mean I can’t eat?”

“They’re going to give you the medicine to induce you and you cannot eat.”

I almost cried. “But labor could take forever and I haven’t eaten since dinner last night!”

“You’ll be fine! They’ll give you popsicles and ice chips...”

“Fucking ice chips”, I muttered.

The doctor went over more details with my mom since I was no longer inclined to listen. I was too busy devising ways to secretly get my hands on some food.

We arrived at the hospital, signed in, and they immediately took me to a room.

The next two hours were rather boring. They stuck me in a gown and settled me in the bed with an IV drip of whatever it was. Members of my family had already started to gather in the waiting room. The only events more important than birth to a southern family are fishing tournaments and the start of deer hunting season.

The Grandmother was of course let into the room, along with my mom and godmom who wandered in and out getting me ice chips and relaying news to my subjects.

Every now and then a nurse would come in, lift the sheet and check things out. I’d taken to trying to amuse my self and embarrass everyone else in retaliation for not being fed.

“What do you see down there”, I asked her once.

She looked up at me. “Erm, nothing yet...”

“It’s pretty, huh?”


“What?”


“My...”

“Alyson!” My mom and TG shouted simultaneously. They were used to my antics.

I rolled my eyes and contented myself with crunching as loudly on my ice chips as humanly possible.

Then I felt a bit of pain. A sharp jab that made me suck an ice chip down my throat, start choking, and then yelling, as three women advanced on me and started wailing on my back like they were in a Rocky film.

I shooed them away and assured them I was fine. I’d had a few pains in the previous hours, but that was the first one that really, truly hurt. The nurse asked me if I wanted drugs.

“Hell yes! Fill ‘er up!”

The first drug they gave me was Nubain. It was lovely. I was high as a kite.

I don’t remember much of what I said while on the Nubain, but everyone was laughing at me so I imagine it was a lot of nonsense. I DO remember that at one point they all left and in my drug haze I noted the phone on my bedside table.

I picked it up and dialed my best friend, who I hadn’t had a chance to talk to yet.

“Hello”, she said.
“Hey! It’s me!”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m having a baby!”
“Um.....right now?”
“Yes!”
“Um....ok. Maybe you should call me when you’re, you know....done.”
“Ok!”

Talking to her later, she thought I was in actual, pushing labor. So much for getting her to sneak in contraband.

The Nubain wore off and they came in to do the epidural. Just remembering it makes me shudder. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was very strange. It pinched and I felt a kind of jolt along my spine. After it was in though, I felt nothing from the waist down.

I said out loud to my godmom, “I had sex with someone once and it felt just like this.” (It was just a joke at the time. Little did I know it was going to become a reality one day.)

Finally the nurse said it was almost time. In came the doctor, but it wasn’t MY doctor.

My mom was all, “Oooh! Al! You remember Dr. So-in-So! He delivered your sister!”

“I was seven”, I grumbled. “And that is soooo weird...”

“Do you want a mirror brought in so you can watch”, the doctor asked me.

“No the hell I don’t!”

Then for some reason someone let my bastard ass father in the door. “Oh, there’s my girl...you’re gonna do great...go get um’ Al...”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

He backed out grinning and waving just as massive pains started. I had no idea why the fuck my stomach was hurting so badly. I shouldn’t be able to feel anything.

“They didn’t give me enough drugs! They didn’t give me enough drugs!”

“It hurts because you aren’t pushing. You need to push”, the doctor said.

That’s when it dawned on me. If I pushed, a living human being that I’d have to take care of was going to come out of my vagina, and no amount of shoving was going to get it back in there. Not that I really wanted it back in there, but considering the alternative...

I refused to push because I was scared. I stalled.

In the movies they let you have a sheet over your legs. Not in real life. I’d yank it over me, and then the doctor would yank it off. We did this routine a few times before he finally pulled it off completely and handed it to the nurse. I was livid. I’m pretty sure I called him a fucker.

I looked up and there, reflected in the big, shiny black TV was my bizness. ALL my bizness.

“AHHH! The TV! Cover that damn TV!”

My mom says that she was so embarrassed that I made the doctor climb up on a chair and cover the TV before I would push. Well they got me back later, I’ll tell you that.

The doctor instructed my mom and godmom to get on either side of me, one holding one leg and one holding the other. At one point I looked at them and they were both staring down, wide eyed.

“What the fuck”, I yelled. “Stop looking!”

They both turned their heads up in the air quickly.

I’ll leave out the rest. Not for your sake, for mine. Suffice it to say it’s all blood, goopy stuff, and naked embarrassment.

It was over in record time...about 5 minutes after I started pushing and 5 hours from the time I was induced. I’ve heard stories about women being in labor with their first child for days. Fuck THAT. Somebody would have gotten me a plunger.

They cleaned up the kid and handed her to me. For the few minutes they let me hold her before taking her to the nursery I was in awe.

But when they took her away, everyone went with her. Nurses, family, everyone left assuring me they’d be right back. An hour later I was still waiting and getting angrier by the minute. Once they took the kid away, I remembered how fucking hungry I was.

I finally picked up the phone, called my dad and he answered, clearly emotional. “WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE!”

“Oh, we’re looking at the baby! She’s beautiful! You did such a good job!”

“Can you PLEASE get a nurse in here? I'm starving! This is probably why some female animals eat their young!”

They finally sent someone to take care of me and moved me to a regular room. A few minutes later, with a room full of people, The Grandmother came walking in with a big bag of Chick-fil-A.

I almost cried I was so happy.

I was sitting up in the bed, blissfully stuffing my face with chicken sandwich and ignoring everyone, when a nurse came in.

“Here you go”, she said. I took a thick envelope out of her hand.

Still chewing, I nodded at her, set my sandwich down and pulled out the contents. Then I promptly spit out the wad of food, hopefully in her direction, and screamed.

They were Polaroids. Of my bizness. And the stuff...and my bizness...and the...oh gawd, it was horrible. Who the fuck authorized them to take photos? Not me! And more importantly, how the hell did I not notice that someone was snapping away?

I eventually calmed down and continued eating. I’d waited too long for that food to let them ruin it with birth porn. I made up my mind to burn them when I got home.

They brought the kid in a little while later and I made everyone leave so we could have our first mother/daughter discussion.

“First things first”, I said. “You are perfect. And clean now, which is even better. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s going to be ok. I’ve given up sex and drinking, I’ve gotten stitches in my vag, and I’ve had about 10 people I’ve never met see my junk and document it. I wouldn’t do that for just anybody. So...it's you and me kid."

I continued jabbering and cooing at her for a few minutes while she looked at me with those blue, new baby eyes. Then I had an epiphany.

“Ha! I’m not going to burn them!”

I grinned at her tiny face.

“I’m going to show them to you when you’re older! Free birth control. Hahahaha! This parenting shit is easy."