The Scary Pregnant Lady Society

At the beginning of my pregnancy I swore to myself that I would steer clear of those pregnancy messaging boards. No matter how many questions I had that had to be answered Right Now, I would not create an account to ask them. Instead, I’d just write my question down and save them for my doc. After all, I see her every Wednesday. I could wait a week tops for answers, right?


I realized that was not an option the very first time I woke up at three in the morning, wondering ‘what if, what if, what if‘. And that’s how I ended up with an account at one of the bigger message boards out there.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against message boards in general. I think they can be a wonderful place to talk to like-minded people. It’s when you’re like-minded people are a bunch of hormonal crazies that letting them all have a say becomes dangerous. And mean.

Especially when it comes to the Very Important Topics like breastfeeding, circumcision and birth plans. Because even though they’re all important topics to discuss, sure, there’s no need to get nasty.

Really, there’s no need.

If we were all in our right minds, we would probably realize this (Boob Nazis aside). But in the middle of an hormonal fit… Eh. On top of that, every pregnant girl who stood at her kitchen counter at 4 in the morning eating peanut butter straight from the jar, or purchased a baby wipe warmer because it ‘seemed nifty’ can tell you that we suffer from poor impulse control.

Stuff all of us in one place, and people are going to get hurt. It took me about 5 minutes of browsing around to realize why I was so against signing up in the first place…

… When one momma-to-be called another almost-mother an ‘inconsiderate bitch’.

Hi, Kettle? This is Pot. You’re black!

I won’t log on again. And to protect myself against moments of poor judgment and temporary amnesia, I asked Sam to change my password into something I would never guess.

If I could give you one piece of advise, it would be that you do the same. The last thing you need when you’re already stressed over something is another crazy pregnant lady piling on negativity.

Eat a tub of ice cream to calm your nerves instead.

I Made My Husband Break The Law

I nearly clobbered my husband to death with an empty milk jug today. He committed the unpardonable sin, you see. He used up all the milk. We had no more milk in the house. None. Zip. Nada.

‘Why would you even do that?’ I wailed, waving the jug in his face. ‘Why, man? I NEED MY MILK!’

His response was backing away slowly with one hand up and reaching for the car keys with the other.

‘I’ll go out and get some.’ He said in a high-pitched, panicked voice.

‘That’s right you’re going out to get some!’ I shrieked, hitting him in the arm with the jug. ‘You’re going right now!’

‘I am! I’m going right now!’

He came back half an hour later with 6 jugs of milk, and a speeding ticket.

No joke.

Damien Returns

I thought we could be friends. Sure, I was a little intimidated by his size and his stern look at first, but my mother always said not to judge a book by its cover and I was trying hard not to. But then, during our very first meeting, he stole from me. A plastic baggy filled with goldfish crackers and a five dollar bill were carefully removed from my pocket.

I told him no and forgave him. We all make mistakes. We all need people in our lives that teach us right from wrong. And he’s only 9, after all.

But then, during or second meeting, he pinched my butt. With his teeth. It left a mark the size of a plumb, and I realized we wouldn’t be friends.

My nemesis, Tator Tot

Don’t let the name fool you. This horse has it out for me. He gives me the side eye every time I come close and bites me when I try to be nice. Then when my husband joins the saddling party because I’m 30 weeks pregnant with twins and couldn’t possibly lift a saddle, Lil’ Tot dials up the cute and Hubs doesn’t believe me when I say this creature is not a horse, but the Antichrist. He reminds me of Damien, mowing down his mother with the Tricycle of Death. Tater Tot is planning something similar. I just know it.

Let’s hope that Cole is assigned a different horse for his next riding lesson.

And that they don’t make tricycles in Tater Tot’s size.

Some Questions, Answered.

Considering I’ve written only a few posts so far, I’m chuffed to bits by the site stats and emails I’ve been getting. A lot of you had questions for me, and I’d like to thank all of you for phrasing them as politely as you did. Truly, you have restored my faith in the internet! I will try to answer them the best I can, but I trust that you will understand that some of the details are not mine to share. They are Cole and Sadie’s stories, and they belong to them.

Didn’t you write a different blog a while back?
Yes, I did. I deleted it when we decided to welcome Cole and Sadie into our home, unsure of any consequences it may have while we were going through the process of taking them in. I’ve since learned that keeping a blog is completely fine. Of course, this will not be a place to share the ins and outs of their lives, but they are part of our family and I don’t feel comfortable with ‘filtering them out’. I’ve always written about my life quite openly and they are a big – huge – part of that.

I used to read your old blog, but was unaware you had two children already?
That’s because I didn’t. They have only been living with us for a relatively short period of time. My husband and I are not their biological parents, but have been in both their lives since they were born. We are/were very close to their birth parents and have always considered them family. Due to a variety of circumstances, they are now in our care.

Are you and your husband their foster parents?
No, they are not in foster care. We were godparents first and are their legal guardians now.

And you’re pregnant?
Yes, I’m 30 weeks pregnant with twins who Cole and Sadie have dubbed their ‘Bristers’ because we’re not quite sure if they will be sisters or one of each. There has been some confusion about the sex of Baby A, and instead of trying to solve the mystery we decided to let it be a surprise! Baby B is definitely a girl, though, and Cole and Sadie were put in charge of picking out a name for her. I adore their choice.

I hope that clears things up for you a bit!

One Day, Maybe

I’m a girl’s girl. Always have, always will be. Don’t get me wrong, I can hold my own when it comes to guys – growing up with 5 older brothers will do that for you – but when it comes to friends, I prefer my core group to consist of girls. À la Sex and the City, sad as that may sound (but not as sad as living in a world where Sex and the City seems to become more and more outdated).

I want the brunches, the lunches, the drinks before dinner and the movie nights in. I want the shopping trips, the occasional gossip, the make-up tips, the somewhat arrogant simultaneous snort when a grownup wearing Crocs is spotted. I want to be able to completely bitch something out and have nodding heads instead of raising eyebrows. Because a guy would just not understand, you know?

Maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m weird. But nevertheless, these are things I absolutely need in my life.

The hardest part of moving was leaving my girlfriends behind. Because although it was something I had certainly done before, never had I ever spent such a long period of time in one place. These girls, they were not merely friends. They were my tribe. They had my back as much as I had theirs, and we survived our early twenties because of each other.

Sometimes I miss them so much it physically hurts. We stay in contact, of course, but that doesn’t help me deal with the little pangs of jealousy whenever I see a status update from the lot of them out and about, having fun. Without me. Because I’m oceans away.

I desperately need a new tribe. As much as I adore spending time with Cole and Sadie, as much as I adore my husband, as much as I adore all my sisters-in-law… I need some grown-ass lady friend time with kick ass woman that are not related to me by blood or marriage. Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

Making friends while pregnant is hard. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a relatively young mom, but I don’t seem to fit in anywhere. No 30-something woman is quite on the same wavelength, and no 20-something year-old girl wants to hang out with a pregnant chick who also happens to be caring for a 6 and 2-year-old. I’m still hopeful that there are other misfits like me out there, preferably in my area, but until then…

I miss my tribe.