At some point in your life, the words “oh fuck”, are going to escape. It’s a given. Whether you woke up this morning and you have a flat tire, whether you were awoken by the smell of your toddlers shit in the next room, or… If you haven’t yet experienced it: pissing on a stick and seeing a plus sign for the first time.
And seeing that plus sign for the first time as a newly 19, 20, 21 year old, sometimes, we can admit, it fucking scares us. Regardless of any situation: it’s fucking scary. But, worry not, that tiny plus sign isn’t the worst of it, especially when you’re young. (Trigger warning? If you’re a mom who planned your pregnancy, and you’re above 25, this probably won’t interest you to hear, but is a topic that some people struggle with, myself being one.)
Let me start out by saying this: my daughter certainly wasn’t planned, but was also not truly protected against. However, even though I knew the possibility was there – seeing that plus sign made the entire scenario a little too fucking real for the both of us. Immediately, I knew my life was about to change. I was then followed by the thought of “what the fuck am I gonna tell my parents?”
Thankfully, I was an adult. I lived on my own, I was engaged, and I worked my ass off. I was also blessed with parents who had children young and I had already surpassed their time clocks of children, so they weren’t really all that upset. (Also, my brother had a child before me, so he kind of lessened the blow a little. Thanks, Deedee.)
However, the reality that all people have their shit together, and all people have parents excited to be made into “papas, granny’s,” all that jazz? It’s not always ringing true.
Some people have dictators for parents, even after they’ve moved out. (We all know it to be true, Nancy, don’t try to play and act like your kid isn’t 22 and you’re still making doctors appointments for them.) Some younger adults were blessed with high standards to succeed and go to college and blah blah, and for some reason, people assume there is a right/wrong time to have kids. This isn’t true. If you want a baby shit monster, there is no better time than the present. (Unless you’re 31 and you still live in your mom’s basement – please think about this before you spread the seed or fertilize the egg.)
Also, let me just say that with becoming a fertile mertile, you also experience what’s called “excessive fucking backlash.” Some people, for whatever damn reason, cannot be happy for expecting parents. Whether they assume you’re going to turn your little sweet pea into a fun-sized Satanist, or whether they just aren’t getting enough play time; whatever the reason – they always have something to say. It’s like word vomit that you wish they would choke on. (Even more so if they say something completely awful and don’t even have children themselves.)
Let’s be real though: those shows of women getting pregnant and never knowing? Yes boys, it happens. With my daughter, I was already 10 weeks pregnant before I even noticed I was late. (Sometimes, women’s cycles are so fucked up, we don’t even try to act like we know what our bodies are doing.) Some women never show symptoms, and if you’re one of those women, I have to say on behalf of all women who get stabbed in the fucking stomach by pregnancy: we hate you. (Only in the best ways, though.)
With all this being said, I haven’t even begun to explain how unjust everyone is if you catch the pregnant too soon in their eyes. I can’t begin to even touch on the many many changes we go through as human-harboring-she-bitches, or am I able to tell you just how much things change – partially, because I am still young, and partially because I’m still doing it.
One of my biggest concerns as a young mother when I am out in public is the amount of dirty looks I get. Like I’m the town whore, and I suck. That’s what people’s faces say to me. It’s rather annoying, and slightly judgey. If you are one of these negative nancies, or these judgey judies, I suggest you take back a notch, because young or not, I have no problem addressing why your face looks like you stepped in shit. What’s more annoying than the looks, is the looks I don‘t get when I am out with Brenden. I am not a single mother, but fuck man, Brenden does not validate my parental capability. He’s a dude. Half the time, he gets sick and thinks he’s dying from ebola. (No offense, Brendad, I love you, but you’re a puss when it comes to any sickness ever.) Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.
If you are one of the women or men who have caught the pregnant young, you know, as well as I do, that the remarks, and the poorly timed jokes… They never end. So buckle up, and enjoy what you can, because here’s what catching the parasite really means!
Months 1–3: As previously mentioned in a different post, ladies, you are in the uncomfortable phases of “is she fat or just eating a shit load?” You are stuck with painful boobs, cramps that may actually be worse than having a period, and pants that are juuuuuuust a little too tight now. You are stuck crying over everything and anything, and fearing a large statistic of women who miscarry. And men, you are stuck with this crazy hormone raged bitch fest that cries if she can’t eat whatever the fuck crazy thing she is craving. Or, she cries because she has morning-afternoon-night sickness, and hasn’t been able to eat in weeks and essentially hates you every time you open a bag of chips or other assorted snacks directly in front of her. You are stuck with a girl who now spends almost every second of free time asleep, because in these beginning months, there is no exhaustion quite like the first trimester. Smalls pro is that baby kicks are neat. Cons are that sickness sucks, body expansion sucks, boobs hurting sucks, everything besides basically baby kicks, and hopefully your anatomy scan, are the two things that don’t.
Months 4-7: I like to call the second trimester the calm before the storm. If you’re lucky, the sickness ends, your body usually adjusts to it’s second passenger, and raging backlash and rude remarks seem to settle down. Not everyone experiences this bliss, some women are blessed with hyperemesis gravidarum, which is morning sickness on fucking steroids, and they never understand what a good meal is for their entire pregnancy. You’re usually adjusted to the extra weight, so you’re able to sleep a little better, and typically, my favorite part was always the ability to eat literally anything set in front of you. (Being pregnant on Thanksgiving, Christmas, or easter is quite honestly the equivalent of being 16 again and being stoned and being able to eat everything at dinner including the table.) You also seem to be happier, less bitchy, which means: well, were all adults – sex becomes fun again. (Yay!) Some women say that the second trimester is the best one, and I’m sure husband’s and boyfriend’s alike can agree and jump on board with that statement.
Months 8-10: yes. Contrary to beliefs, most women carry up to or past 40 weeks. This is the last stretch, and the longest one. It’s also the most exhausting, and even if you’re young, I’m sure we can all agree that the third trimester fucking sucks. Your boobs start leaking, your human parasite starts to run out of room, you get stretch marks, you become a bigger bitch than ever before, and no matter what you do… You don’t sleep worth shit. Essentially, your body starts to fall apart, and you cry so much you think you’re going to run out of tears. (But you don’t, no matter how many times you watch that same movie that makes you cry yourself to sleep.) Husband’s, boyfriend’s, dad figures: please understand we don’t mean to hate your existence, we just value your abilities to sleep, and eat, and function. (But yes, for the time being, fuck all of you.) At this point, we are sick of people asking if we had our children yet. It actually makes me want to punch people. There is no one anticipating the arrival more than us, so for the love of Christ, stop asking us. Stop offering advice and things to try to induce labor – odds are, we have tried it. All of it. Odds are that we also probably sick of trying it. We’ve become the human equivalent of monsters, and we know it. Don’t be mad if we attempt to sleep for the next 1,578 days until our water breaks or we have to be induced, or even get the dreaded C. We are extremely aware we are big, don’t tell us. We are aware we eat unhealthy, don’t tell us. We already fucking know. So just shut up and wait for the Facebook birth announcement. It’ll come when it’s good and ready.
With this being said, may the odds be in your favor. May you not feel a single twitch of morning sickness, and may your vagina return to its original state after popping out your small miracle of life. Amen.