As those of you faithful readers know, this hasn’t been a fun pregnancy. I’ve been sick for most of it, exhausted for all of it, and peevish and whiny for a good 2/3rds of it.
But, I did have one little ray of hope that I had held onto this whole time.
I didn’t have stretch marks.
None. All I had was a beautiful, nice smooth belly — with no Racing Stripes. Just my normal green-white skin. A lot bigger, to be sure, but still my skin. (An aside –it really is so white it’s green. I do not tan. At all. Even in 1985 when I lay around in the weeds of my back yard in 90 degree heat slathered in baby oil in a desperate attempt to fit in with the in-crowd who spent their summers playing tennis and sipping Diet Cokes by the pool at the Country Club to which we did not belong. Nope, giant case of sunburn and a slight case of heatstroke was all I got out of that one.)
Anyway, back to the real story. Last night I was lying on the couch, hot as hell, so I hiked up my shirt over my belly (which you would do too if you were incubating another human. Key word here INCUBATE.) Spousal Unit looks over and says, “What’s that, honey? Do you have a rash?” After a bit of contortionist stretching and a lot of groaning, I was able to get a closer look and fuck me if there weren’t these chicken scratch looking big-ass red lines directly underneath my belly button. It kind of looks like a red tattoo of a trident.
Well, hell. There goes that one thing I was clinging to. Now, I guess the only thing I’ve got to be thankful for is that my belly button hasn’t popped out like the built-in turkey timer. Luckily, I’m still a nice little innie.
**** We Interrupt this PERFECTLY good Stewgad Rant for a Message from Spousal Unit******
After I read this post to him to display my witty cleverness in the face of Vast Adversity, Spousal Unit, clearly unimpressed, reminded me with a completely straight face and deadpan manner that all indications point to the fact that we have a very healthy baby and a totally normal pregnancy and that therefore I have much to be thankful for about this pregnancy and strongly implied that stretch marks are a small price to pay for a healthy Gadlet.
******Now back to our regularly scheduled Griping ******
Oho! Big Mistake, Spousal Unit, big mistake. Word of advice for you guys out there. Do not, ever, ever tell a grumpy, tired, hot and hungry woman who is 2 days away from her due date and staring down the barrel of a 2-3 day process that involves EXTRUDING A WHOLE HUMAN BEING THROUGH HER VAGINA that ANYTHING she is experiencing is trivial compared to the joy that a healthy new baby will bring. I don’t care how minimal those symptoms are. If she gripes that she has a hangnail and that that hangnail is making her miserable, you just commiserate and sympathize and offer to fetch the nail scissors and gently trim it for her. And if you can’t find those nail scissors, you get down on your knees and trim that little fucking hangnail with your TEETH. Sheesh.
IF, however, you DO make such a blunder with your VERY PREGNANT partner/wife/lover/girlfriend there is only one clear fix for the situation. Run as fast as you can –do not walk because she might go into labor while you’re gone — to the Apple Store for one of these. Yes, I’m here to tell you, that even Very Pregnant Women can be bought, regardless of how many new Racing Stripes they’re bemoaning.