I’m pissed off. Pissed because I know nothing about pregnancy because no one talks about the creepy gross shit. People talk about the kicks and the cute belly and the big boobs. But I am NOT PREPARED FOR THIS. And you know what? I am taking it on myself to be sure that you know more stuff that I did before I donated my body over to a baby. This basically means that this post is not meant to be read with 1) breakfast 2) your dad or 3) a priest.
And with that I present to you my emergency embarrassing drug store trip in my local town:
This is about to get graphic my friends.
For 4 days I’ve had a pain in the ass and it’s not B. It didn’t get better. So finally I do a little google. Again, google=devil embodied. And I learned about the H word. Which I really don’t want to say because it creeps me out and makes it real and FINE. hemorrhoids (which I still can’t spell even after googling 87 times.) Do you even KNOW what a hemorrhoid really is? I didn’t. Apparently though like almost EVERY pregnant woman gets them. Do you know how many babies are in the world? Like billions. That means at least ONE woman who had a baby could have given me a heads up on this one.
A hemorrhoid is a swollen blood vessel that literally POPS out of your butt. Jesus I wish I was kidding. It hurts. It hurts your butt, your brain, your eyes and your heart. And apparently when you are pregnant, the body snatcher presses everything downwards, including butt vessels. MURDER MY FACE PLEASE.
So after telling facebook, B and my yoga class, I had to take action. You’d think because I am pretty open and honest that I don’t get embarrassed about stuff. Wrong. This is totally my defense mechanism against ultimate butt shame. Hence, please note the additional distraction purchases, whose purpose is ONLY to distract the cashier from thinking that I have a butt vessel problem. Even though I do. But girls who buy Lucky magazine and cool new face washes CAN’T have butt vessel problems. It’s totally for someone else.
And of course I aim for the cashier who looks like a nice mom who will give me an “aw sweetie” look, and then, of course the young cute 16 year old is all, I can take you over here. Great. So then I’m like taking things out of my cart like stacked on top of each other so you can’t really see the butt meds even though she has to physically ring it up one by one anyway and remove my stacked tower of distraction. Then she piles everything in a bag and puts the Lucky Mag on top like a shame cover.
I came home and told B this:
Me: See? I should feel shame. She put the Lucky Mag was put on top of everything else!
B: Don’t you think you’re reading too much into this?
B: So you’re probably not reading enough into it. (rolls eyes)
So now you know. You know more about pregnancy than you did before and you know more about my butt than anyone should know. Including me. If you need me I’ll be trying to suck back in a butt vessel.