I spent the better part of this past Sunday watching the I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant marathon on TLC and two things happened as a result:
1.) I may have gone partially blind from accidentally watching the commercial for Treeman Meets Treeman so many times.
2.) I think I'm pregnant.
Because watching the I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant marathon taught me that a combination of the following means you're 100% pregnant: morning sickness, irregular period, fatigue, headache, weight gain and moodiness.
Somewhere in the middle of the marathon, it hit me—I have all of the above. What if I'm pregnant and don't know it?! There I am, LOL-ing my pants off at these bitches while I'm knocked up six-ways-to-the-weekend myself! That would happen to me...
Let's consider the evidence:
1.) Morning Sickness: UM. I refer you to a recent post entitled "I'm too sick to blog, but I puked this up just for you," written not two weeks ago on the morning of July 27th. THE MORNING. What if I wasn't sick from my three-way with two orders of cheese fries; what if I was sick from the blatant baby setting up shop in my person? WHAT IF?!?! Also, it's currently 9:36 in the morning, and to be completely honest with you, I've felt better.
2.) Irregular period: I SKIPPED MY LAST PERIOD. (Overshare?) (Yes.) (Well, sorry, but it had to be said.)
3.) Fatigue: Hi. Have you ever met me? I'm tired literally every moment of every day. I know koala bears who sleep less than me. One time I seriously approached my mom that I had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Her reaction? "Yeah you've got CFS alright. Chronic FAT-ASS SYNDROME!" And then she proceeded to crack herself up until she was gasping for air. Whenever I bring this up with her in a, Hey remember when you said this and it scarred me for life? kind of way, instead of feeling guilty, she just re-cracks herself up and goes into a laughing fit that usually ends with, "God I'm funny!" Welp, who's laughing now grandma?!
(PS: This has nothing to do with me being pregnant, but all this Chronic Fatigue Syndrome talk makes me think of one of my favorite moments in Golden Girls history when Dorothy confronts the doctor who didn't believe she was sick when she had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. True story: towards the end of my tenure at Paper Source, my co-worker Scott and I used to recite this monologue back and forth to each other, ruffle our imaginary cowl neck sweaters (as seen at the 1:40 mark) and pee our pants laughing. And then we were told we weren't mature enough to work together anymore, so (after two years of working there) I quit. WACKY MEMORIES!)
4.) Headache: YES! And my eyes have been really dry and itchy. Allergies...or FETUS?!
5.) Weight gain: Was I not just saying I've been feeling all Fatty McGee recently?! AND! I swear to all that is good and holy, I just emailed Becca last week being like, "I've been working out like an insecure sorority girl recently and I'm toning up everywhere but my stomach, what's up with that?" I'll tell you what's up with that: can't tone a FETUS!
6.) Moodiness: I'm going to let Friday's manic drinking game prelude speak for itself. I'm also not saying that I texted Co-Blogger Chris a slew of racially charged text messages regarding Boss #2 on Friday, but I'm also not not saying that I texted Co-Blogger Chris a slew of racially charged text messages regarding Boss #2 on Friday. Tempers flared...racial slurs were utilized...housecleaning and border crossing jokes were cracked...I'm not proud.
So, 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = FETUS!
And I didn't know! AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW! All the evidence was right here in the blog and neither of us picked up on it! I'm no better than any of those other line dancing, toilet birthing, redneck accidental mothers! Humbling. I suppose I could always take a page from my own book and take a pregnancy test to find out for sure for sures, but frankly, pregnancy tests are expensive and it's a recession. There's always my Italian pregnancy test/enema, but that's one of my favorite souvenirs ever; I don't want to waste it on some fetus that's just going to come out crooked and backwards anyway.
Which reminds me, to my unborn possible fetus, I have this to say to you: you sir and or madam are on your own. Actually, I take that back. If you can survive the following that I've subjected my body to in the past three months alone, then frankly you might be a superhero and I'm keeping you around for safety purposes:
- copious amounts of alcohol
- muscle relaxers
- strenuous gym work-outs
- Dee Snyder's House of Hair midnight dance parties
- carafes of coffee a day
- hair dye
- lack of prenatal vitamins
- increase in resting my laptop on my stomach while using it laying down because I like the way it feels when it gets hot
...I don't treat my body like a temple. I treat my body like a dilapidated trailer park. So I say, game on fetus...game on. Say 'sup to your dad for me: