Here we go....prego vents!
I'm clearly about ready to pop. I know you think this means I shouldn't be out in public, but a girl's gotta be places. How about in a crowded mall you MOVE your booty outta my way. I can't just quickly swerve my body around you. Okay, I probably could but it would make me more uncomfortable. You don't realize that I'm 36 weeks pregnant, it's 100 degrees outside, I'm having Braxton Hicks (which means my stomach has temporarily turned to a ball of concrete with a little knee lodged between my tender stomach muscles) and that my body has 40-50% more blood volume, which just so happens to be pooled somewhere below my belly button and above my thighs. MOVE YOUR ASS outta my way!!
I wish people would give me girth. Trust, you will so not hurt my feelings if you keep a good yard away from me. Does my poked out belly button not serve as a beacon to back up? At least it's a small signal that I'm operating at maximum capacity. I may not look like a Mack truck, but that's how I feel.
Another gripe: hurry up. If you see me juggling a stroller, wrangling my toddler (no, I don't "leash" him, thanks for the suggestion, douche), and holding my stomach with white knuckles--- it probably means you should woman up and let me go ahead of you in line. If you're a sales person, just hurry up. Cut the chit chat and upsells. I don't need to be a valued customer and get your emails. Give me your rewards discount and get me outta there.
Memo to salespeople: I get it. I'm pregnant and you asking me all abut it makes you look friendly. It's annoying to me to share my joy in the same three scripted sentences at every store with every "associate". 1- I'm 9 months along 2- it's a girl 3- yes it's super special to have one of each "we lucked out". Do you want me to tell you how I obsessively read every website on gender selection sway techniques, highlighted a book and considered investing thousands in sperm spinning to separate the girls from the boys?
Memo #2 to salespeople: yes, your store has tons of cute shit for baby girls. I don't need you to point it put to me. I'd MUCH prefer to discover the special ruffle butt diaper cover all on my own. It's called thrill of the hunt. And when I spend ten urea debating which baby girl socks: ballerina or Mary Jane style, paisley or butterfly, I am actually highly enjoying myself, I don't want your opinion. It's MY daughter. Not yours. Mine!!!! Tmes like this. Wish I was either a. Autistic and could speak my mind without realizing others were having weird thoughts about me, b. Two years old and can look cute throwing a "mine" fit, or c. 80+ years old so people could write me off as senile when I tell you to "suck it, Missy!"
Whew!!! Shopping prego can be exhausting. Thanks to the salespeople fun-suckers who drained my reserves today. You made my two year old seem like an angel. Oh wait, he is.
I'm clearly about ready to pop. I know you think this means I shouldn't be out in public, but a girl's gotta be places. How about in a crowded mall you MOVE your booty outta my way. I can't just quickly swerve my body around you. Okay, I probably could but it would make me more uncomfortable. You don't realize that I'm 36 weeks pregnant, it's 100 degrees outside, I'm having Braxton Hicks (which means my stomach has temporarily turned to a ball of concrete with a little knee lodged between my tender stomach muscles) and that my body has 40-50% more blood volume, which just so happens to be pooled somewhere below my belly button and above my thighs. MOVE YOUR ASS outta my way!!
I wish people would give me girth. Trust, you will so not hurt my feelings if you keep a good yard away from me. Does my poked out belly button not serve as a beacon to back up? At least it's a small signal that I'm operating at maximum capacity. I may not look like a Mack truck, but that's how I feel.
Another gripe: hurry up. If you see me juggling a stroller, wrangling my toddler (no, I don't "leash" him, thanks for the suggestion, douche), and holding my stomach with white knuckles--- it probably means you should woman up and let me go ahead of you in line. If you're a sales person, just hurry up. Cut the chit chat and upsells. I don't need to be a valued customer and get your emails. Give me your rewards discount and get me outta there.
Memo to salespeople: I get it. I'm pregnant and you asking me all abut it makes you look friendly. It's annoying to me to share my joy in the same three scripted sentences at every store with every "associate". 1- I'm 9 months along 2- it's a girl 3- yes it's super special to have one of each "we lucked out". Do you want me to tell you how I obsessively read every website on gender selection sway techniques, highlighted a book and considered investing thousands in sperm spinning to separate the girls from the boys?
Memo #2 to salespeople: yes, your store has tons of cute shit for baby girls. I don't need you to point it put to me. I'd MUCH prefer to discover the special ruffle butt diaper cover all on my own. It's called thrill of the hunt. And when I spend ten urea debating which baby girl socks: ballerina or Mary Jane style, paisley or butterfly, I am actually highly enjoying myself, I don't want your opinion. It's MY daughter. Not yours. Mine!!!! Tmes like this. Wish I was either a. Autistic and could speak my mind without realizing others were having weird thoughts about me, b. Two years old and can look cute throwing a "mine" fit, or c. 80+ years old so people could write me off as senile when I tell you to "suck it, Missy!"
Whew!!! Shopping prego can be exhausting. Thanks to the salespeople fun-suckers who drained my reserves today. You made my two year old seem like an angel. Oh wait, he is.
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