I kind of hate myself right now. I spent the last month walking around smiling smugly, brushing off people’s advice with a “Thanks but I really feel great”, and thinking to myself how awesomeI am at being pregnant. I had even started thinking every pregnant woman before me had just been exaggerating how lousy it can be. Not for me, the Super Baby Grower.

But in the last three days I have been punished for my smugness, like some sort of Biblical parable on pride. I have a new understanding of morning sickness. It’s not just being a little queasy and upset by specific smells. It’s constantly being right at the edge of throwing up, even if you have just finished throwing up. I am dreading getting off this couch to rejoin the working world, with all its smells and people and lack of barf buckets. My crackers and ginger ale gives me the energy to switch between Olympics coverage and Judge Judy, but probably not enough energy to do my job.

You’d think living on Saltines and water would at least come with benefits – mainly the ability to button my pants. You would be totally wrong. How can I be expected to put on real clothes when I can barely yank my stretchiest work pants over my butt? I am one dropped pen away from splitting the seams and proving my mother’s point about clean underwear. Suddenly the ads for all sorts of belly bands and button extenders for pregnant women seem ridiculous. If my ass is growing at the same speed as my stomach, how am I supposed to keep wearing my normal jeans? I’m switching to sweat pants as soon as possible.

As if being fat and sick isn’t enough, I am also ugly. I spent 6 months of high school going through Acutane hell to clear up my skin and 9 weeks of pregnancy has ruined it. My face has so many red spots it looks like someones been using it as a dartboard. And it’s not just my forehead, nose, and cheeks. I’ve also got breakouts on my neck, chest and back. It’s August. How am I supposed to hide all this?  Makeup just seems to make it worse and it’s certainly not fooling anyone, so I’m not even going to bother.

I wonder, do I have to actually have a child before I can become a stay at home mom? Because now is when I’d like to avoid going out in public as much as possible. Since 50% of my job is smiling and greeting clients and being friendly and about all I’m being friendly with right now is my toilet, I don’t think I’m much of an employee. I’m also irrationally irritated by everyones questions. I already hate having to explain contracts go in the fax machine face down five times a day, now I feel like crying when someone needs help with their wireless connection.

I’m planning to work until January but if my boss actually comes in to work and sees this fat, pimply, barfing, crying, irrational person at the front desk I may get to quit sooner than I planned. It would help if I anyone was sympathetic. Although the women in my office see the crackers and the sick face and the inability to talk, they haven’t been pregnant in 20+ years and all have severe mommy-amnesia. “Oh honey, you don’t look good”, “Ginger ale, huh? You must be OK, I couldn’t even drink water!”, “Only three more weeks and you’ll be totally fine!”. THANKS SO MUCH. Here’s my advice to you – unless you want to answer your own phones, do your own advertising and actually show up and do your job at this office, maybe you should shut the hell up and offer to cover for me while I’m lying on the bathroom floor?

Happy Anniversary E! I can’t believe we’ve been married for four whole years. It seems like only yesterday I was watching you across that dance hall, hoping you’d stop hitting on the slutty waitress long enough to take me home and get me drunk. You’re the best husband a girl could ask for and I love you even more today than on our wedding day.

p.s. Thanks for the flowers. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I sort of figured carrying your child for 9 months pretty much covered the next dozen gift-giving occasions. XOXO

I always put off having my eyebrows waxed until the last possible moment before my forehead is more hair than skin. I reached the point yesterday where it looked like two blonde caterpillars wrestling so I stopped in at my nail place for a quick clean up. As I was sitting in the chair, my eyes tearing up and silently begging the technician to just hurry up already because this is painful I started thinking – If I think getting my eyebrows waxed really hurts, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE GIVING BIRTH TO A BABY????

If I were a super hero, my power would be sniffing out the bad guys. The smell of everything in my house is slowly driving me insane and not helping with the nausea that has suddenly begun welcoming me each morning. I’m just glad no one I know smokes, because I plan to throw up on the next person who comes near me with a cigarette. That includes YOU, lady in the car next to me at the stoplight. Don’t think you’re safe, I still move really fast for a pregnant chick.

I bought my first official maternity clothes tonight from a Versatile Womens Clothing Line. I don’t really need them yet but I did need some shorts and something for a semi-dressy event tomorrow, and I didn’t want to buy clothes that would only fit for another month. The dress is just lightweight black jersey with an empire waist and little cap sleeves. I already own about a dozen similar dresses that aren’t technically “maternity” but previously inspired strangers to stare a little too long at my belly and made me want to yell NO I’M JUST FAT THANKS.  But let me tell you about these shorts. SO comfortable, I plan to wear them every day. They’re just regular dark denim shorts but they have elastic triangles built into the sides. Once I get a big pregnant belly they’ll stretch and fit under it but for now it just means I can eat all the bacon I want without having to unbutton my shorts. They’re my Thanksgiving Pants.