friends

When I first got pregnant I was alone in the sense that none of my friends were starting families. Not many 23 years are these days. But now that some years have past a few friends have joined the mom club—three of them. Often they would come to me and ask questions or just to chat about the changes in the bodies or lives, but none of my three friends had difficult pregnancies. In fact, all of them said they loved being pregnant and can’t wait to do it again. BARF!
I posted a picture on facebook of my protruding belly and got lots of great compliments. My sisters know the difficult time I’m having with this pregnancy and so they offered consolation in the form of sarcasm (they know me so well). Such as “you’re glowing” or “I bet you are having so much fun.” The glowing part is true, that’s the oil slick on my face that my hormones continuously pump out, but in case you haven’t figured it out yet, the answer is NO, I’m not enjoying being pregnant.
So one of my friends that had a great pregnancy sees my picture on facebook, but also the comments about my struggle with nausea et al and says to me that despite my constant pain, sickness and fatigue I have great boobs. YES folks I’m busting out of my D bra and life is beautiful. I hope to stay pregnant my whole adult life so I can have great boobs.
Another friend of mine keeps telling me how wonderful her pregnancy was so she can’t offer any advice about morning sickness. NO, she doesn’t say it once, not even twice, but three times. Well I’m just thrilled for her that she never got sick. Incidentally, three is my cutoff for mistakes that I will accept from friends. I will not speak to her until my amnesia has kicked in again. And it’s a darn good thing she lives in another state.
Or what about the friends who aren’t parents yet and they still ask you to come out to clubs or bars? I guess its nice that they still invite me—right? WRONG, I don’t want to think about my lack of freedom; and I said before I don’t want to get started on not drinking**. Or my favorite is one of dexter’s good friends asking if we wanted to go skiing. Sure lets hop on a plane with the crazy 3 yr old, fly cross country and let dexter ski while I puke in the friend’s toilet and run after Flip in a non baby-proofed condo. Sounds great, lets go now. What the F*ck are guys thinking?
So basically im limiting my friendships (while pregnant) to girls who had as rough at time (or rougher) that me while carrying their little bundles of poop-making criers—I mean bundles of joy. So that means I get to talk to my mom...