Kicking and screaming. Part I

I felt the baby move today.  I'm pretty sure it WASN'T gas, (I did wait a minute to make sure nothing "produced") and it felt like a swift acrobatic kick to my lower right uterine-area.  Cool.  I have a human experiement growing inside of me.  I'm a gestational carrier, but sorry Nic and Keith, I'm keeping this one, it's mine.

So why is my post titled kicking and screaming?  The baby can't scream, and just had it's first kick.  Well, I figured it was about time I told you how I REALLY feel about being pregnant.  All the time.  And I WILL tell you how I really feel, I don't know how to hold back, so, jump in this frustration filled rant as I tell you what it's really like (for me) to grow a human inside my expanding uterus and what it does to me, mentally, emotionally and physically.  Take my hand.  Join me, and I'll show you why you probably don't want to read on if you want to hear about all the beautiful "blossoming" crap those propaganda filled books tell you to expect when you are expecting.  I'm not like that.

I'm going to act like a spoiled brat and I don't care, judge me, cuz I'm judging you.

"It's all worth it in the end."  Yes, it is.  Definitely.  And my sacrifices are nothing in the grand scheme of things in the hope that I produce a happy healthy baby.  But that's sure as hell not going to stop me from selfishly ranting my way into "feel-better-dom" about myself and the situation my husband put me in.  Ok, I was there too and this was all planned, but shit, I feel jealous of my non pregnant friends and their binging..err I mean drinking and staying up past 9pm ways and you know what (stomps foot), it's just not fair.  Even if it is for only 9 short months, it's the longest, most sober 9 months of my life.  Ever. 

I'll schedule the waaabulance to pick me up after the post.  I promise, now just keep reading.  Meh-mi-nah.

I've been dragged away from my favorite chambord flavored vodka bottle kicking and screaming almost 4 months ago now.  I spent my 30th birthday, sober.  SOBER.  Do you even know what that's like?  If you have a few gold coins, I'm sure you do, but I'm not talking about that kind of sober.  Congrats, by the way, but sober sucks.

I had just spent the previous summer relishing in daily, after work glasses of cheap wine on my newly furnished patio and weekends fueled with poolside/lakeside or grillside beer crushing.  I had not worried about the copious amounts of grease filled food and types of seafood entering my mouth at warp speed, only worried about when the next grease fix was to come and which fast food vendor would be my next victim.  Oh those care free days of worrying only about the irreversible damage that was being done to my current and only child, that at the time, could be distracted with "yellow" lollipops.

Shots of jager?  Sure, where's the tequila?  What no tequila?  What do you call this?  A 3 year old birthday party for sesame street fans?  That was me.  Now I'm just cranky, and sober.  Did I mention I was sober?
Of COURSE I have occassionally sipped on a glass of red or white wine, so rarely, it's like a TEASE.  CRUEL TEASE.  I believe in moderation (when pregnant, obviously) and when not pregnant, I believe in being Bon Jovi drunk.  "You're only allowed one bottle of wine a day when pregnant"   - Colleen Donaghy (30 Rock).  If only.  sigh.

In Germany they ENCOURAGE you to drink beer, right up until you've had the baby and even once you've squeezed it out, they hand you a pint "It's gut for das breast milch."  Says nurse Helga.  I'm going to deliver this baby in Germany.  My own mum, who delivered me in Australia, was encouraged to have a glass of cool, delicious crisp refreshing beer, to help "milk flow" or stimulate something, or just stimulate being tipsy.  Whatever it was, it was a damn good idea.

If I were to whip out a cold one, fresh from the epidural needle exiting my back, legs still in the upright position, think - "kerchaaaa" of the bottle top twisting or aluminum can tab crunching at the opening, I believe that I would receive a cold reception from the watchful nursing staff, much colder than my beautiful beer.  I've considered it, but it's not worth the risk, I am delivering in a catholic hospital, but an AMERICAN catholic hospital.  BIG difference between that and Australian.  Australian's are a little more, how you say, un-orthodox?  :)

I've had a bad day at work, find the alcohol, I've had a good day, find the alcohol.  I bet Paco misses me.  That is the name of the friendly Latin man that knowingly smiles at me when I show up at the bottle-o more than 3 times a week.  Maybe Paco has forgotten about me.  I bet his cash register hasn't.

I'm not saving any of this money used for alcohol, no.  It's being funnelled into my account for cadbury mini eggs.  Oh mini eggs how do I love thee?  I promised a cadbury mini egg post and it's coming.  I promise.  Those little golden bites of candy covered chocolate endorphins.  All in due time my dear, all in due time.

Back to my selfish ranting.  I am making myself out to be this huge alcoholic.  It's true, I don't like to ignore my limits, I like to take them into a back alley and murder them.  (thanks Hal)  I love a good drink, I love a good competitve drink that ends in uncontrollable laughter and crying fuled by a bad judgment of mixing beer and liquor resulting in a broken chair, great friends and memory of not much else.  And I miss having an excuse to get up and sing karaoke (that I've practiced for months in my car and convince that I sound Christina Aguilerish) badly - "Oh man I was so drunk"..  Dammit, I thought I was going to sound good, thank god I had the liquor to fall back on.  And now I realize this post was just about alcohol and not how miserable pregnancy is to my physical being or my  emotional being or to my marriage.  I could go on, really I could, .. I know you don't believe me.  But, I'll stop here.

Today, I know my limits, today I know I should quit writing more, before the men in white coats find out where I work and take me away in their padded van.  Oh, to know your limits when sober.  Being knocked up can really take the alcoholic content of your liver down a notch and your fun.  My liver is smiling, not for long... not for long...

Did I mention I was sober?