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Broke Wife, Big City
My Not Knocked
Up Bucket List
By Aprill Brandon
You know that game you play where you come up with the title of your
autobiography? Like, for example, a few years ago, mine would have been
“Why Yes, I Will Have a Fifth Glass of Wine.” Or maybe “And That’s Why
I’m Not Allowed Back Into Delaware.” Or even perhaps “The $8.23 In My
Checking Account & Other Numbers That Make Me Sad.”
Ah, but how all that was a lifetime ago. Because currently, the working
title of my memoir is:
“So, How’s the Pregnancy Going?”
This question is pretty much my life now. Because when you are
pregnant, you as a human person no longer exist. You are simply a fetal
cheeseburger delivery system wrapped up in a sweaty muumuu. All anyone
cares about now is 1. How is the baby doing? (Answer: Fantastic minus
the fact she’s kicking my bladder like it owes her money) and 2. When
will the baby get here? (Answer: Hopefully before I get to a size that
includes my own personal gravitational pull).
Not that I can blame people for only caring about the baby right now.
Creating life is a fascinating process. A fascinating, farty,
sausage-fingery process. Think about it. Humans go from an egg and a
sperm to a mango-sized tadpole who drinks his own pee to a 7-pound
ninja who uses your ribs as substitutes for board breaking. I mean, who
cares that I have hopes and dreams and fears and regrets and deep
thoughts about how a universal love of melted cheese unites all of
humanity. None of that matters. Because you don’t care. Because in your
eyes I’m just a loud, messy-haired incubator for an adorable infant.
So, to answer your question, the baby is doing great and I have finally
entered my third trimester.
THE THIRD TRIMESTER, PEOPLE!
Which means I’m almost done!
Only 8,712 more days to go.
Give or take.
And now that I can see the tiny, tiny light at the end of the birthing
canal, I can officially start daydreaming about what it will be like
when I’m finally not pregnant anymore. Coming up with my Not Knocked Up
Bucket List, if you will. Because when you are pregnant, you can’t have
any fun. In fact, there are panels of doctors whose only job is to just
sit around all day thinking up new ways to make sure pregnant women
can’t have any fun.
And so, here are all the things I’m going to do when I’m not pregnant:
Sleep on my stomach. Oh, sweet, sweet patron saint of mattresses, I’m
going to sleep on my stomach SO HARD.
Enter a hotdog eating contest. I don’t even really like hotdogs. I just
want to eat 74 of them because I can’t right now.
Drink coffee until I’m physically vibrating so hard that I defy the
laws of physics and can pass through walls. And then I will bathe in a
bathtub filled with Red Bull.
Ride a goddamn rollercoaster while eating day-old gas station sushi.
Because I can, bitches.
Drink all the alcohol. All of it. And then when I’m done, I’m gonna
finish your beer.
Drink all the Diet Coke. All of it. And then when I’m done, I’m gonna
add some Captain Morgan to your Diet Coke and drink that.
Finally dye my hair any color other than its current shade of “Awkward
Warm Honey Orange-ish With Four Inches Of Dark Brown Roots Showing.”
Throw all those stupid, ineffective Tylenol pills into a ceremonial
fire during a Black Mass and fill my medicine cabinet with Nyquil and
Claritin and Ibuprofen and Aleve and Pepto and Unisom and Benadryl and
all the pretty, pretty over-the-counter drugs available to modern man
so we never have to actually feel symptoms of anything.
Eat cold cuts in a hot tub. Which sounds gross. And probably will be
gross. But who cares? I’m free!
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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