Monday night we went on a tour of the Hospital where the bubs will be born. Us and 80 other expectant couples. Not that I thought we were special, but evidently September is crazy busy for the maternity ward because of all the Christmas, New Years and Valentines Day coital celebrations. I thought I was overly judgy of regular girls. But pregnant girls – I ripped them to bloody shreds in my head. But only the ones that still had visible collarbones, toned arms and cute outfits. AKA all of them. There should be a sign at the Vancouver city limits stating in large print: All dumpy pregnant women head back to the suburbs. There is no place for you here.
I’m now down/up to weekly Doctor visits; the last one I was told this kid would not be a “delicate flower.” This I’m interpreting as the kid will be long and skinny and flush out of me like greased lightning, as opposed to being towheaded and herculean in the shoulders. Every visit you have to give a pee sample, something I could now do in the dark, covered with fire ants and missing an arm. I’m THAT GOOD. Not good? The woman taking a Dad-style shit in the next stall EVERY SINGLE TIME. I swear to God. And it’s like 9 am. I can’t handle those fumes that early. You’d need a forest worth of matches to mask that smell.
One more time for those in the back who didn’t hear me last time: Toys R Us is the worst part of having kids. I did have one really great experience with them last week, but that was after calling 19 times and getting the busy signal 18 times. Once we have all that we need from there, never again do I plan to walk through those sliding glass doors.
I had the first of four baby showers a couple of weekends ago. Before you get all huffy and think I’m a greedy bitch, let me break it down:
I decided to split up the people in my life into different gatherings for the following reason: Have you ever been married and attended your Wedding Reception? This is what happens: You get hijacked by relatives you don’t give a shit about or ones you don’t even know on your Husband’s side, who want to catch up/introduce themselves, and over their shoulders you watch your close friends and family have the time of their fucking lives. I didn’t see or speak to my Bridesmaids at my Reception. For all I knew they could have been murdered by a psychopath with an aversion to black sequins and awesome eye makeup.
So, I divvied up my peeps like so: Pre-baby close girlfriend shower where we could talk about fucking, eating placentas and blowjobs without worrying about my Mother-in-law passing out; Work shower being thrown by my lovely co-workers (this was unexpected, but it’s going to be so great); Post-baby Vancouver family shower at my Mom’s place; and finally a traditional brown Ladies Party in Vic with Nuv’s Mom hosting and every old brown woman within a 75 mile radius there dying to hold the kid, and buckets of chai tea and yummy bright orange too-sweet Punjabi treats. Other than a few girlfriends, there are no crossover guests, so it’s not like I’m getting more gifts than I would have if we’d just rented out the Coliseum and had everybody come to one event. Hmm, that actually would have been an awesome idea. I would have hired Anami Vice to do a set, had those mini donut and cotton candy kiosks from the PNE, and finished with some indoor fireworks. I should be a Shower Planner.
It’s been really hot here the last week. I could tell you all types of disgusting side affects of the heat. Or I could be grateful my Mat leave is going to include a Christmas and full summer off. That beats a sweaty ass any day.