“You’re not pregnant too, are you?”
— Parent, to me, after hearing that almost everyone on my grade team is pregnant.
Because, as everyone knows, pregnancy is contagious.
And a completely appropriate subject to broach with someone you don’t know well at all.
Eric and I, discussing a possible trip to Asia and the risk of Zika virus, in terms of future pregnancy …
Eric: “Well, this is an awkward conversation to have at this point.”
Me: “I don’t feel awkward at all!”
Eric: “Oh.”
Eric: “Yeah me neither.”
Urologist: “So I’m looking at your test results. First of all, you didn’t mention that you’re pregnant. That would certainly explain the frequent urination.”
Me: “What?!? I’m not pregnant!
Urologist (looking at results again): “According to this ultrasound report you are.”
Me: “What?! It says I’m pregnant?! But…”
Urologist: “Oh, oh. Nope. This isn’t your chart.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Also THANK. CHRIST.
Therapist: “You’ve been saying for a while now that you might want a career change. It seems you haven’t felt very fulfilled at your current job.”
Me: “Right.”
Therapist: “And you said you were going to take some time, explore some options, talk to a few people, do some research, and come up with a plan.”
Me: “Right.”
Therapist: “So, you did that?”
Me: “Yes I did!”
Therapist: “And you have a plan?”
Me: “Yes, in fact I do!
Therapist: “I mean besides ‘get pregnant and quit.'”
Me: “Oh. Then no.”
I’ve been feeling kind of off the past few weeks and haven’t really been able to pinpoint why. Then today I was standing behind two women in Starbucks, and one of them was listing all my symptoms.
Woman 1: “I just don’t feel myself at ALL. I’m exhausted all the time, my body is sore, I have a constant headache, I just feel slow and lethargic and all I want to do is sleep.”
And just as I’m about to tap her on the back and say “Hey, ME TOO! What do you think is wrong with us?!”, she turns around, and I see what the problem is.
Woman 2: “Well jesus you’re 8 months pregnant with twins, how do you THINK you’re going to feel?”
So the point here is that I am either 8 months pregnant with twins, or just a single, 33-year-old, definitely-not-pregnant (trust me) woman who’s been waking up every day lately FEELING like she’s 8 months pregnant with twins.
I am legitimately not sure which is worse.
I do know that when I am pregnant one day, I am royally fucked.
Bouncing my nephew on my knee, to the tune of “La Cucaracha”
“You need a cousin!
You need a cousin!
Otherwise you’ll be so very spoiled.
But that won’t happen soon
No that won’t happen soon
Unless your Auntie Em makes a big oops!”
My sister and brother-in-law laughed.
My parents, sitting beside me, did not.
It’s so weird how appreciation for accidental pregnancy jokes skips a generation.
That moment on a plane when you’re so embarrassed by your overactive bladder that you apologetically explain to the annoyed woman in the aisle seat, who is getting up for you for the 3rd time, that you’re pregnant.
You’re not pregnant. You just know that’ll make her sympathetic and less annoyed. And you’re right. It does.
What you don’t know is that this will incite an entire conversation about said make-believe fetus.
How far along am I? About 3 months. I know. It’s crazy, I’m barely showing. I’m sure that won’t last, especially with the aid of these nacho cheesier Doritos! (Woman cackles with laughter, seems less disgusted with my snack choice than she was previously).
The father? He’s amazing. Been married 3 years. He’s in Florida for business right now, so I’m meeting him at The Breakers. Yeah, I know. Ritzy. But the thing is, he, and therefore we, are richer than God. Sometimes we take baths in our dollars and I wear a bra made of diamonds. Don’t be fooled by the hole in this Old Navy hoodie I’m wearing. In public, I prefer to blend.
First child? No. We have toddler triplets. One boy and two conjoined girls. Yeah, that delivery was rough! (finish bag of Doritos, lick fingers, bust open the Toblerone).
Names? Haven’t decided yet. I like Coconut. Maybe Sunshine. Or Palm Tree. No, I’m not just naming things I’m excited to see in Florida.
Am I sure it’s ok to fly? I don’t know. Why? Is that a thing? Maybe that’s why my girls are conjoined…
Oh ok, cool. Now we’re done here.
(Note: nothing past the 4th paragraph actually happened. Except in my head. This is how I pass time on flights. It’s also the effects of Xanax).
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