Hi, Jack Shit? I'm Mrs. Mullet

Today my newly pregnant friend Jen—if you don’t feel like reading the post below, Jen’s hot and the Russian mafia know it—texted me that she is an emotional wreck.

She wanted to know if that’s normal and when it will stop. I told her yes, it’s normal, and that she’ll probably start feeling better when her baby is six months old and starts sleeping through the night.

To which she texted back: "I hate you!"

That went well.

I thought about telling Jen that she is going to hate a lot of people in the next nine months: the nurses who weigh her, strangers who touch her belly and tell her she's "huge!", non-pregnant friends who can drink and stay up past 7:30 p.m., the postman, her fiancé, Kathy Lee Gifford (for the mere fact that she's so fucking annoying), and yes, probably me.

But that was way too much to text. I had no choice; I had to write this: "It'll be fine."

You might think, so what? People say that all the time. But you don’t understand. I was going to be different!

The whole entire solar systemic reason I started this blog was to share honest observations about pregnancy and childbirth. I fancied myself a kind of resource, if you will; a no-holds-barred, give-it-to-me-straight source of expert advice. (Are you rolling on the floor laughing? Cause I sure am.) I mean, one of my very first posts was this.

When I was pregnant, I loathed mothers who patted me on the shoulder and told me everything would be fine. I knew they were lying because I knew I wouldn't be fine. I had to expel another being from my body and then I had to care for that being.

No one can be fine.

I promised myself that I was going to be different. No lies, no sugar coating. I was going to be the woman who told THE TRUTH.

Here! Here!

But it’s not that easy is it? A friend who is freaking out because she cried about being out of dog food doesn’t necessarily need to know that this is just the beginning and that nine months from now she’ll wish an empty dog bowl was her biggest concern. She doesn’t need to know that she is an ant standing before that Empire State Building known as motherhood and that she will never, ever be the same.

Nope.

After Jen texted back “thanks” I opened up wide and swallowed my blog in one entire bite.

I.know.jack.shit.