EDITED TO ADD: A winner has been selected! Congratulations, Meg!!!
When I first found out I was pregnant with Meredith, it was early September and I was glowing and doing beautiful things like taking folic acid and pre-natal vitamins and eating lots of fruit to build the most perfect environment for the tiny miracle who was being sculpted in my precious uterine apartment.
At the end of October, when I was starting my second trimester, I had to have an emergency appendectomy. From that point forward, my pregnancy was filled with days spent on the couch and lots of moaning, and suddenly I had gained over sixty pounds with three months left to go, and SCIATICA!!! In other words, there’s a lot to expect when you’re expecting, and despite what you’re led to believe, not all of those forty weeks are spent standing in a meadow wearing a gauzy dress and holding a bouquet of fresh flowers while the wind gently caresses your enlarged (aka swollen and painful) chest and your glowing (often acne-ridden) face.
I had the final appointment with my obstetrician on my actual due date. I was eighty pounds up, and Meredith was measuring in at ten pounds. At the appointment my doctor threw around phrases like “perineal massage” and “pain threshold” and words like “episiotomy” and “ripping” and “stitches” and do you know me? Because if you know me, you know that I’m highly uncomfortable talking about body parts—especially if those body parts are (mostly) contained in my drawers. (People who really know me are furiously nodding their heads right now. Because They Know.)
Anyway, right after the appointment, my mom drove me to Houlihan’s, where I sat and stared at a French dip sandwich for thirty minutes as I pondered the ripping and the stitches. Before we left, I went to the restroom and BLOINK! I felt something fall out and splash. I prayed to God that it wasn’t the baby and at the same time I prayed to God that it WAS the baby, because That Was Easy! and I looked down and it was NOT the baby. It was—are you ready—my MUCOUS PLUG! And really? All I could do was: 1. Try to remember if I was supposed to somehow recover the mucous plug., and 2. Laugh. Maniacally. Because pregnancy can often be absurd. And there was really no way to prepare for the ludicrous side. Until now.
Friends, I’m here to announce that two of my very favorite people in the world have published a book (it was released today!) and that book is titled Let’s Panic About Babies! Alice and Eden have kept me in stitches (non-perineal) for years, and the thought of them writing a satirical pregnancy guide almost makes me want to get pregnant again. (It really does. Almost.) AND, the most excellent news? They’re letting me give a copy away here at Fluid Pudding! Between now and Friday (March 4), leave a comment below and at 11:00pmCST, I’ll fire up the random number generator to choose one of you to win! You don’t have to be pregnant to win! You don’t have to be a mom! You don’t even have to be a woman! You just have to be a Fluid Pudding reader. Because, to quote Charlie Sheen, Fluid Pudding readers are built with Adonis DNA.