Monday, August 02, 2010

No Reason to go Peeing in a Cup...

Carl wryly observed a few weeks ago as he helped my princess self up from the floor that "this is a different pregnancy, huh?"

Last time around, I pretty much kept up my normal pace of everything. I worked, I cooked a lot, I moved furniture. This time, he is more likely to come home and find me flopped out on the couch than hauling mattresses around the second floor. This time around, I can't just take a nap whenever I want, because, HI! I'm Wendy! I'm thirsty! Hungry! Emotional! Demand games of Candyland! So yeah, I'm a little more exhausted by the time he rolls in from work.

On the flip side, I'm a lot less focused on every tiny twinge and stretch that my body makes. I have actually had more of the crappier prego symptoms this time, but I'm far less likely to run to that shitty "What to Expect" book that reads pretty much like this:

Chapter 1: Stuff You Should Only Do if You Hate Your Baby
Chapter 2: Ways You Can Both Die
Chapter 3: Eat According to This Chart Unless You Are Just a Terrible Person and Suck at Life

Chapter 4: Giving Birth
Chapter 5: You Probably Will Not Be a Good Mother, Because There is SO Much You Can Fuck Up

No reading this book obsessively before bed and giving myself nightmares this time. No sirree. There are a few things that I can't get out of enduring a second time around, though.

Because I am unemployed and our resources are limited, I have again turned to state medical assistance. I'm fine with this, and the medical care that I am receiving. Some information for those of you who are not unmarried hos on government welfare insurance: pregnant women are routinely subject to manditory drug screenings and forced sit-downs with nutritionists. They ask you in somewhat hushed tones (with what I am sure they believe to be sensitivity) whether the father is "in the picture?"

I deal with in in good humor. Especially when something like this flyer lands in my lap:

If you find it in poor taste to post this on my blog, you will probably not want to know how I burst out in hysterical laughter when the woman handed this one to me. This probably caused her to wonder if I was in fact on the crack, and to be glad that my pee was on its way to a lab somewhere...


  1. oh shit! crack is cocaine? Why didn't someone tell me 7 months ago. Plus, you know, a smaller baby body/head might come in handy... just sayin'

  2. I should have made sure to mention. I feel so remiss...

  3. That book sounds REALLY scary!