Success!

Coincidentally, the date of my last blog post was also the first day of my last period (or the start of my pregnancy count-down).  I apologize to anyone who gets squeemish at the word 'period'.  I'd hate to offend you by conjuring up graphic images of my bleeding vagina.

So, back to the good stuff.  I'm pregnant!

Are you back from celebrating? Drink something heavily alcoholic while you read this. For me. Please.

I've been waiting for something monumental to happen in my life in order to kickstart the ole sarcastic, creative juices! It was either this or murder Josh and give you funny clues in order to find his body.

Because I know this blog post, and many future posts, are going to be FULL of inappropriate shenanigans, I feel the need for a disclaimer:

Pregnancy is a beautiful thing. I feel extremely lucky to be able to go through this process and think everyday about the health and well-being of our baby. Josh and I couldn't be more excited to bring a life into this world and realize the weight of this amazing responsibility. I know that this can be a heavy and emotional topic - and I think about this a lot.  Life seems (and is) so fragile when you're waiting for your pregnancy to progress. I have spent many a night worried about losing this little life. I'm sure the worry is in preparation for the worry I will now experience for the rest of my life as a parent. So, I just want to put it out there that if you are easily hurt or offended by pregnancy-related jokes, it might be better if you didn't read this.  If you think women should go through their pregnancies with grace and without complaining, you DEFINITELY shouldn't read this. Cool. Back to it!

Holy shit. There's a human being growing inside of my body. INSIDE OF MY BODY.  And man, I feel like shit.  Like a naive moron, I imagined pregnancy as this time where I would gloriously fluctuate between feeling spiritual and gluttonous - doing prenatal yoga and drinking wheat-grass and craving kale for every meal.  Nope!  First of all, I've lost weight because everything sounds fucking DISGUSTING and I usually yack up at least one meal a day right after I eat it. Cravings?!  Fuck. The only things I can eat consistently are watermelon, plain toast, and Chick-fil-A.  Yes, you heard that right. I have compromised my morals for this kid already.  One day, after not eating for well over 24-hours and feeling like death, this bigoted chicken popped in my head and literally sounded like the only thing appetizing to me.  So, I sheepishly drove through the Chick-fil-A drivethru with my equal rights sticker on the back of my car.  I feel fucking bad about it, OK?!  Pregnant Georgia is not the same Georgia that we all used to know and love.

The new, pregnant Georgia (and her body) looks something like this:
-Josh was trying to calm down one of my many tantrums with a sweet hug and I started screaming, "I'm a wild stallion! I can't be tamed!"
-I can now put 'puking so hard I pissed my pants' on my Life-Achievements list.
-If you're wondering about my bowel movements, they usually fall somewhere between feeling like pooping my pants and never pooping again for the rest of my life.
-I worry that my kid might turn out to be a serial killer because of all the Criminal Minds and Law and Order I watch.
-Josh was trying to calm down another one of my many tantrums when I yelled, "I have Restless Leg Syndrome coursing through my veins!!"
-My nipples have taken on a life of their own. Maybe I just never really looked at them, but holy shit! It's like my nipples have nipples.
-People have started asking me, "Do you have any inkling about gender?! Are you dreaming that it's a girl or a boy?!" Usually I just smile politely and reply, "Not sure!" But what I want to tell them is that most of my dreams these days are either full of kinky sex or about me sneaking behind our house to smoke cigarettes and drink vodka.
-Did you know when you have a kid, you have to name the fucking thing?! Shit is hard. Josh is not jiving with my hippie names and usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but on certain days I find myself thinking homicidal thoughts about him. ("Hey fucker! You can't veto River if you're dead!") I realize this is the second reference in this post to murdering my husband ... I love you Josh! I promise I won't murder you!
-I get heartburn after I eat granola bars. FUCKING GRANOLA BARS.
-During the first visit with our midwife, she was doing a vaginal exam and asked me some question about our house or some shit. I looked over to Josh and he answered.  She kind of giggled and asked why I looked to Josh. I responded, "Well, it's hard to answer when your hand is in my vagina." She laughed. I like her.  (She has pictures of hot models above her examination table. Hilarious!)
-My butthole hurts. Not like, "Oh shit! It's 8:30 and I'm late for work, last night was crraaazzzyyy!" hurts. More like, "I think my poop is made of shards of glass." hurts.



I know what you're all thinking.  All this sickness and craziness is worth it, because I am bringing a gorgeous, fucking genius into the world. And you're right. It's like I'm sacrificing my happiness and body for YOUR benefit. Lucky fuckers.

I guess we're pretty lucky too. :)

Cheers!