9 Months of Random Thoughts (and Random Googling)

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pregnant mom with idea

Month One:

OMG. It’s positive. Wait, is it really positive? It’s kinda faint. I should go buy, like, ten more and take them. Ok. It’s positive. Times eleven. Wait till I tell my husband. Well, he didn’t act excited as I think he should have. Cry. How long until I start to show? Let’s google.


Month Two:

There are so many more months to go. I’m going to be pregnant in, like, three seasons. OMG. I just threw up in my mouth. That was disgusting. How could I have to pee so much? The baby is the size of a kidney bean; it couldn’t possibly be putting pressure on my bladder. Could it? Let’s google.


Month Three:

I think I felt the baby. Maybe? Or was it gas? I have no idea. I’m going with baby. I think I’m showing. I can tell, anyway. My husband thinks I’m nuts. Seriously, was that the baby? Pause. Nope. Gas. When am I going to start feeling the baby move? Let’s google.


Month Four:

Should I find out the sex of the baby? My husband wants us to be surprised. I think there’s no way I can wait five or more months to find out. I’m firmly in the second trimester. I can tell people! Ok, I must find out the sex of the baby. But what if they’re wrong? How often does that happen? Let’s google.

Month Five:

Ok. I’m for real pregnant. This baby moves like crazy. I’m starting to feel it from the outside. My husband swears he can’t feel anything. Just wait. Do I have heartburn or is my stomach trying to climb out my throat? Could this much acid be normal? Let’s google.


Month Six:

I have to pee. I definitely look pregnant now! I’m wearing maternity clothes and everything. I have to pee. Pass the Tums. It might be easier if I could just conduct all business from the bathroom. It would save a lot of time. Seriously, do I have a bladder infection or something? Let’s google.


Month Seven:

I can’t sleep. My hips hurt if I lay on my side; my stomach tries to eat my esophagus if I lay flat. Not to mention, sleeping on my back is apparently bad for baby. My husband can sleep through anything. I hate him. No, I don’t. Isn’t there anything I can do to sleep better? Let’s google.

Month Eight:

Ok. Things are getting crowded. I don’t think there’s any more room for the baby to grow. He must be at least thirteen pounds by now. I’ll never get him out.  I have to pee. I’ve moved into the La-Z-Boy for sleeping purposes. Am I actually going to be able to get this baby out? Was that a contraction? Let’s google.


Month Nine:

Hot dog. Thirty-seven weeks. The baby can come safely now. Any day? Thirty-eight weeks. Ok. This will be the one. If he doesn’t come soon, I’m sure I’ll be delivering a twenty pound baby. Thirty-nine weeks. A contraction! Grab the timer. Forty weeks. Seriously. Come out now, baby. Forty one weeks. Contraction. Contraction… Should I go to the hospital? Let’s… Call the doctor.


Thirty-nine Hours Later:

Oh! He cried! He sounds so cute. Is he supposed to be gray? What’s that cheesy stuff? Newborns kind of look like aliens. But he is the cutest little alien ever. Oh! He yawned. I can’t believe he was only seven pounds. I seriously thought I was going in the Guinness Book for largest baby ever. Wait. Is he supposed to do that? Let’s google.

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