Pregnancy - It Makes a Man Outta Ya

Can we talk a sec about being pregnant? Girlfriend to girlfriend?

(And I just want to preface this post with telling all you men in my life - I love and appreciate you! But you know I'm telling the truth!)

I always thought of pregnancy as this dreamy, magical, womanly time of life, with bluebirds and butterflies floating around you, and a sweet, demure smile always on your lips (think Cinderella with a post-honeymoon pooch). And then it happened to me. Boy, what a delusion I was laboring under (yeah, pun intended).

Just so ya know, pregnancy turns you into a guy. Not physically, but your ladylike ways go right out the window as you deal with the constant assault pregnancy throws at you.

For example: spit. I don't spit. Ever. It isn't in my makeup to do something so tacky and un-ladylike, whereas my husband will spit just because he can. And my brother. And the half-dozen other guys we see around here on a regular basis. Until I became pregnant, that is. Now, I spit so much I'm getting better at it! See, once you're pregnant, your mouth begins to send your saliva production into hyper-drive, and all that excess has to go somewhere. Even if you don't have bad morning sickness or you're past that particularly fun time, swallowing all that spit all the time just makes you ill. So, ya know, it has to go somewhere. I've been known to lean out an open car door at a red light to deal with this issue. It's possible by the end of this pregnancy I'll be able to enter a spitting contest - I probably wouldn't win, but I may place!

Another thing those pesky hormones create: the lack of desire to clean anything. Actually, it's less the "cleaning" and more the "no energy for anything but lying like a lump while my kitties walk all over me" issue. But still. How many guys do you know that keep up on all the cleaning? Jorde's pretty good with dishes and floors and vacuuming cat hair, but a toilet has to be physically attacking him with crud before he'll mount a counter-assault. Ditto the shower. And the dusting. And all the other miscellaneous things that he never would think about actually cleaning until he realizes (months later) that it's starting to look shabby here or there. Between cooking grease spatters and cat hair, the bottom drawer of our oven is starting to take on the appearance of old-man eyebrows. Which is gross, truly. And I will get to it. I just have to remember it's there (another hormonal assault: swiss cheese brain - the inability to remember anything due to the information leaking out of enormous holes in your head, ie: why your alarm clock is going off - really!).

Another manly issue is...um...well...(it's about to get tacky)...farting. I know, I know. There's no delicate way to say it, so there it is. BPA (Before Pregnancy Assault), I never did this in public (of course, as a "lady", I would technically have to deny I did this at all, but that's a whole other issue). Heck, I never did it in front of my husband until pregnancy took over my body. Plus, ya know, ladies (if we must) pass wind--we don't fart, for goodness sake! Until pregnant. There ain't nothin' delicate or nice about a pregnant fart. Just ask Jorde. Especially after eating onions. Or broccoli. I'm starting to be concerned about being able to leave our office quick enough so the staff isn't decimated by noxious gas, they come on so quick. I don't know exactly what my digestive system is doing (or not doing), but it's possible I can be liable for the hazmet team being called out for investigation if I don't run fast enough.

Hmm. Maybe that's a bit too much information. I'm sure the post-pregnant ladies out there are nodding their heads in agreement, the never-been-pregnant women wonder why they've never heard any of this before, and the men are staring at the screen in shock. Hopefully, you won't remember this post the next time you see me, or you may begin keeping a 25 foot distance from me at all times. Just come hug me - I promise not to explode :)