Let's be frank...

Habibi and I are not at all fanciful.  In fact, every time I try to do something cute (and/or Pinterest-y), I end up frustrated and with egg on my face.  So, we've just decided to embrace our straightforward, blunt way of doing things.  To give you an idea of how we roll, let me tell you a little bit about our life journey together...

On our second date, I told Habibi that I really wasn't interested in ever getting married.  Sure I like liked him ("like liking" would soon change to love), but it just wasn't something I planned for my future.  Seven months later when he proposed (see how that went for me?), I simply said yes.  There was no video, no fireworks, no wild story, no pictures.  He told me to close my eyes (I insisted on sitting on the floor if I had to close my eyes because I was afraid he'd push me on the ground) and when I opened them, there he was, on one knee, holding a ring.  Afterwards, we kissed and he told me I had coffee breath.  I don't care what anyone else thinks, it's just our style.  I don't need cupids and roses for romance.

Several weeks ago, we traversed another milestone in our lives that involved peeing on a stick:

It all began when I started my monthly complaining to Habibi about how Aunt Flo was late again.  (That bitch never RSVPs.)  Soon enough, it started to get somewhat worrisome, so we decided to test it out bright and early on a Monday morning.

I always imagined that, when our number was up, I'd tell Habibi in some clever way:  I'd wrap up some baby item and give it to him as a gift, or I'd attach a note to a positive pregnancy test with some corny line like "Dear Daddy, I can't wait to meet you!"  But, true to form, it didn't go quite that way.

As I slithered my way out of bed on that unforgettable morning, I made my way to the lavatory to do the necessary.  Sure enough, two blue lines appeared, clear as day.  Instead of containing my reaction like a forward-thinking and level-headed mother-to-be should, I just uttered a gurgly, pre-coffee ERMAGERD!!!!!!!!!  Habibi immediately came running in to the following tableau:  me (still on the can) with my uncontrollable bedhead, staring wide-eyed at the pregnancy test I had just thrown on the bathroom floor.

This is how I told Habibi that we were going to give life to another human being.

Since then, I have been experiencing my fair share of pregnancy symptoms and have conducted more than a small amount of research.  All questions of my adequacy as a future parent were immediately tabled  and replaced by more pressing concerns of getting through endless nausea, how not to throw up in public, avoiding stretch marks, and regaining my appetite which, mercifully, has now expanded beyond beef jerky, Wheat Thins, and mustard.

Over the course of my research, one thing has become increasingly unclear to me:  I keep reading accounts of women who "love" being pregnant and miss it when it's all over.  They claim that the happiest times of their lives were when they were knocked up.  Perhaps I'm missing something, but pregnancy has been no picnic up until this point.  Waking up throughout the night because of a various aches and pains, immediate bloating and transformation of any body definition into something resembling a flotation device, a complete lack of appetite, an urge to pee every 30 minutes, fatigue that literally knocks me on my ass, skin that itches so much that it bruises from incessant scratching...  These are just a few of my complaints.  I'd like to take these pregnancy-loving women by the shoulders, stare into their delusional eyes and ask, "What precisely is your favorite part of this experience?  Ending every day with cankles and sausage toes?  The violent and uncontrollable displays of public flatulence?  The sudden denial of the alcohol and pills that kept your mug from America's Most Wanted?  What is it?  What???  WHAT?!?!?!?!  WHAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?!" Maybe that's normal for those women whose pregnancies only amount to adorable baby bumps and nice 6 pound babies, but for those of us who will end up with a fat ass and a mustache, I will kindly ask them to please shut the hell up and take their glowing selves elsewhere.

As I try to figure out how to get a hold of the drugs that make women enjoy pregnancy, Habibi and I also have other things to consider, like what to name our little critter.  We have currently settled on a rather realistic name:  Hulk.  This is in honor of my most favorite Avenger, and also accurately describes our probably-not-so-little chicken nugget.  If genetics have anything to do with childbirth (and I hear that they do), I'm really in for it.  Habibi was over 9 pounds; my sister B was over 9 pounds; I was two weeks early and over 8 pounds.  In other words, at 5'1" and a usual weight that hovers around the 100-mark, I'm screwed.

Help.

In all seriousness though (and I say that so you won't think I'm the horrible type of person who actually means the things you just read...), I am getting pretty excited.  I suppose I should clarify:  I'm mainly excited to get it (him/her) out of me, but some of the other parts of having a baby are good too, I guess.  True, I'm not looking forward to waking up at 3 in the morning to calm a fussy kid, but I can't tell you how much fun it will be to hang out in the children's book section at Barnes & Noble and not feel like a total creeper.  (Shut up.  I love the Olivia books.  They're classy.)  Maybe people will stop throwing me sideways glances when I insist on reading Go, Dog. Go! out loud to Habibi.  (That's such a great book.  Who would have expected that ending?  A DOG PARTY!!!  Classic.)  The Very Hungry Caterpillar is a good story too about not eating too much junk food.  I can't tell you how many times I've binge eaten and then just wanted to slowly eat through "a nice green leaf."  And don't even get me started on Skippyjon Jones.  If you don't think that little cat is the cutest creature in all of children's illustration then you have no soul.  Yes, I suppose having a little person in tow would establish some street cred in that department.  Hmmmm.  Perhaps this could be better than I initially expected...

Anyway, I thought I would end this post with a few questions and insights of my own about pregnancy:

1. Is it wrong to hope your child has super powers?
2. At what point is my hair supposed to start looking amazing?
3. Since I learned I was knocked up, I have had a permanent horrible taste in my mouth (physically, not metaphorically).  Where does this come from and why does my breath have to be skunky all the time?
4. How should I break the news to Betty and Alice?
5. I want kombucha.  (Technically not a question, but still important.)
6. How come the maternity clothes are so much cuter than my regular wardrobe?  Also, why the hell are they so expensive?
7. What's the best way to get rid of endless hiccups?  Need to know ASAP, please.
8. When am I supposed to start glowing?  My complexion is nothing like a perfectly bronzed J.Lo.
9. How much shea/cocoa butter/argan oil is sufficient in a daily application to prevent stretch marks?  Seven gallons?  Eight?
10. How do you politely tell someone "Get your hand off my belly or I'll punch you in the throat"?
11. Did you know that raisins look the same after you throw them up as they did before you ate them?

Now please leave me alone.  I am feeling emotional because I just watched Hercules (the Disney version, because I am awesome) and the muses are so good at singing.