This is a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I was just free writing one night after finding out I was going to be squeezing a baby out of my vag in less than 9 months. This was my way of coping. Enjoy.
I got a card in the mail today. I opened it thinking it was a birthday card as I will be turning 29 in only a few short days. As I pulled the card out of its envelope, the baby bump adorning the woman on the front of the card said otherwise. “You’ll definitely be a great mom” was written across the card in a bubbly font. “You’ll definitely be a great mom”….. I stared at the card. For a very very long time. All I could think was “Fuck you card! Fuck you! You don’t know me! You think you know everything don’t you?!?!”
I proceeded to open the card and read the sweetest most heartfelt message from Kevin’s mom. She went on to tell me that she knows it’s hard but hopefully exciting. She expressed how happy she was for us and how she’s there for me no matter what. She ended the message by telling me how much she loves me. I stood there wondering how to reconcile my hate filled rant with the new rush of mushy emotions. I started to cry and put the card on my dresser. I had managed to go a full 24 hours without crying and now my streak was ruined. Defeated, I threw myself on the bed, grabbed a pillow, and cowered behind it…. all the time, staring at that card.
“You’ll definitely be a great mom” stared back at me.
“Shut up you stupid presumptuous card”
“You’ll definitely be a great mom” continued to stare back.
“Oh yea, tell that to the 57 house plants I have killed”
I laid there, glaring at a cute pink card.
“People actually think I can do this….” I thought while peering over my pillow shield. “…but how do I explain the untimely deaths of Charlotte the spider plant and her other 56 family members who have perished while in my care?’
“You’ll definitely be a great mom”
“Oh what the hell do you know you stupid card?”
This is my world right now. Yelling at a card. How did I get here? I mean I yell at my dog, but that’s easy when he decides to chew my coffee table. But a card? What is wrong with me? I know absolutely NOTHING on how to care for a child and I am in a full panic. What if I don’t like it? What if I drop it? What if I accidentally sell it to gypsies? I am kidding about that last one… mostly kidding. I don’t speak “baby”. I am sure I speak dog better than I speak baby. I mean, before I found out i was pregnant, I was really preoccupied with the idea of adopting another puppy. So I guess the universe heard me say “puppy” and interpreted “baby”. Maybe I’ll just give birth to a Labrador Retriever.
Enjoy that visual.