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Ok, seriously…how much longer can a human pregnancy last!?  Please tell me I am glowing, ’cause I am totally glowing, right?

So, the other night we went out on a date to a local Mexican restaurant, and at the table next to us was this hot mess of a baby.  Just rice, beans and smooshed chips all over the place.  Apparently, the mother thought I was gazing dreamily at the infant, and she was all, Just wait, you’ll have one of your own soon.  Which kinda shocked me, because in reality, I wasn’t even really paying attention to the baby, but rather the giant frothy margaritta with salt her husband was using to wash down his gigantic plate of yummy nachos covered in guacamole….ooohhhhfuckingyum. But, I didn’t want to insult her and her baby (who had beans under it’s finger nails for Christ’s sakes! I could’ve hurled), so I was all, oh for sure, fingers crossed.

And then, I had to switch seats with my husband because

A.  It was all I could do to not stick my tongue down her husbands throat just to get a taste of that yummy lime and tequilla and then steal his plate of nachos, and

B.  I can barely run the garbage disposal without dry heaving these days, and baby riceandbeans was pushing my gag reflex to the limits.

Which brings me to my point, besides the obvious point that I clearly eat like a 400lb man, a funny thing happens when you get pregnant.  Everyone thinks you love babies…which is a giant load of crap.

I mean, I don’t hate babies.  I just hate other people’s babies.  Ok, so I don’t hate them the way I hate, say…cilantro or that tool from the Shamwow commercial (a headset microphone, really?).  I think it’s great that other people have babies, and I am sure they are wonderful and magical and smell like star dust, but come on.

I can still see how gorgeous and precious your baby is at arms length.   I don’t need to hold them “for practice,” or to “get used to them,” because the fact is, I am used to them.  I have two at home who love and hug and snot on me all day long, and when I finally get out for some fresh air, the last thing I want is my pregnancy to be used as an excuse for you to pass off your baby me or think that I find it entertaining when they bounce on the other side of the booth and pull my hair.  Because the fact is, lady, I am fucking tired.  I am sweaty, all the time.  And, if you don’t stop your baby from screaming in about 10 seconds, my boobs are literally going to leak all over the place.  So back the eff off and let me eat my nachos.

And, it doesn’t even stop at human babies, because being with child means that I am supposed to love and appreciate all forms of mothering.  Like when my mom called me over to my brothers house to drop off my video camera yesterday, and HOLYFUCKINGSHITBALLS, his dog was birthing puppies.  On the floor.  And, now hold on while I vomit, they were in sacs…SACS…that she ate off. And there was just…I don’t know…gooey birth juice just…everywhere…spilling out of her doggy parts.  And, the whole house smelled, um, birthy.  Moist and birthy.  It was just a massacre.  I will seriously never be able to look that dog in the back end again.  Ever.

Now, here’s the thing.  I am not prejudice against the inherent beauty of a dog having puppies. Puppies are wonderful, like little hairy hugs from Jesus.  It’s just that I find all forms of birth equally disgusting.  My own included. I don’t want a mirror.  I don’t want to reach down and feel the head crown. Because I chose to ignore the giant plastic hazmat bag planted between my stirrups, doesn’t make it any less magical for me. I am still giddy and joyous and totally in love with the bundle of goo they hand over to me.

Awww…because my babies are gorgeous, they smell like star dust, and next time I see you out at a restaurant, I will totally let you hold them.

So I can drink.

And eat my nachos.