Turn this mother out.

Hi PFG readers. Bee here. Recently I announced to the blogging world that I am with child and so, in the spirit of our sweet Susannah, I thought I'd take this opportunity to be brutally honest about what (very little) I know, what scares me senseless, and a little something called colostrum. Here goes...

Myth: "I never felt better than when I was pregnant!"

Bee's reality: Pregnancy is like the worst hangover of your life, minus the alcohol. I was sick for the first 14 weeks. The smell of garlic made me hurl. My allergies were in overdrive, my uterus was pulling and twisting and pushing my organs and muscles and bones into knots, and I had constant nosebleeds. Thankfully, now that I'm at the halfway mark, many of these side effects have passed. Others are just now settling in. Like...

• Back Fat. Often accompanied by Fourboobiosis, Back Fat occurs when your bra has been stretched to capacity and can no longer accommodate your elephantiasis-afflicted melons.
• Farts. Yours will smell like hard boiled eggs mixed with gasoline mixed with bacon bits. Cobb salad, anyone?
  
• Colostrum. It hasn't happened to me (yet), and I pray that this joy passes me by altogether. Still, if you need a primer on leaky teats, look no further. Sus's got you covered.
  
• Chub Rub. Heard of it? When you're pregnant, your thighs join together in a show of unity and become one. A distant cousin to Swamp Ass, Chub Rub will render your once taut thighs a red, rashy, friction-filled mess. My solution: stock up on capri pants and maternity jeans. Which leads me to this:
  

See this image of a pregnant woman in WHITE Slim Leg Maternity Jeans? She is a fallacy. She does not exist. The name of this particular style jean is in and of itself an oxymoron. Now, if anyone hears of a maternity jean called Dark-as-Night Wide Load Heifer Denim, please let me know. I'm still searching for that perfect fit.

But, fa(r)t jokes aside, there's also a really wonderful part about being pregnant. The part that Susannah captures so beautifully. The part I can only imagine and have yet to discover.

When I close my eyes and picture the baby, I picture giggles and smiles and (s)he looks like me...no, wait, wait, that's your smile! I picture belly laughs and impromptu hip-hop dance parties in our living room, family walks with the dogs and a mini Weeble-Wobble, all diapered-up and off-balance and smelling fresh and soft and new. I catch future glimpses of my husband and the little bean cuddled on the couch, napping together all peaceful and perfect and one. I think of our daughter the artist, our son the gentleman, our family the loving and happy unit.

And I think of the scary stuff. Like, just how large and Weeble-Wobble-ish I'll become, that my body might not bounce back to its pre-pregnancy state, that I'll be a horrible mother, that something will be wrong, that I won't be able to fix it, or her, or him, and that I'll be 1,000% in over my head. I think of soft heads and unstable necks and the cutting of those itty bitty fingernails and screams that won't stop. I'm scared of not knowing what to do.


Then I think, if Octopussy can handle 14 children, surely I can manage one child, right? Right? Here's hoping. And here's to you for letting me sit in while the mother of all mothers, our sweet Susannah, is living la pura vida. Thanks, Mrs. Petunia Face, for keepin' it real and for showing me what kind of mom I want to be.

Hugs and kisses,
Bee