Daaaaamn! That Girl Fugly!

5th Month

They say “everyone loves a pregnant chick.”  They say pregnant chicks are cute, adorable, even sexy.  Some days I feel cute in my maternity duds with my ‘lil baby bump.  But as my bump gets bigger I notice everything is getting bigger.  Bigger butt, bigger chipmunk cheeks, bigger boobs – even bigger nipples (gross)!  

My doctor told me to watch my weight – and I have been trying – but as I’m nearing the end of my 2nd trimester I’m absolutely ravenous all the time.  Be careful if you have a Dairy Queen Blizzard.  I may just kill you for it.  Each butt cheek is a different Blizzard flavor and my chipmunk cheeks are stuffed full of Sour Patch Kids (the bambino’s fave).  

So with the belly – and everything else – getting bigger I’m starting to feel a little less cute and a little more fugly.  

Yeah, not just ugly – fucking ugly – fugly.   

I wake up this morning exhausted.  With a red, fat lip (WTH?) and a zit.  I never get zits.  I look in the mirror and my eyes pop open wide.  The inside of my head screams “WTF is this?!?”  

Finally I dress.  I can no longer fit into any regular clothes at all anymore.  It’s all maternity…all the time.  I put on elastic belly maternity black pants (so hot).  

My Stalker's Cars! Photograph courtesy of "K-Woww"

I get to my Dunkin Donuts – yes, in case you’re wondering, my stalker is there, driving a green SUV today – and I head inside.  As the sun glares down on me I lift my shades and peek at my pants.  OK, when did my pants get covered with hair and lint?  I try to brush it off with no luck.  Embarrassed, I suck it up and head inside; my big black shades back on my face and covering my eyes.  I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone today.   

I get to work and de-lint my pants.  At least now I look presentable minus the zit and my red fat lip (again, WTH?), but thank goodness for makeup and sparkly powder.   

An hour later it’s time to empty the prego bladder.  And how fun that I now pee 24 times in a 24 hour day.  Well, maybe that’s excessive…maybe 12-15 times…I’ve always been a bit of an exaggerator.   

So I’m in the bathroom, and I put my head down in my hands.  Is it 4:30 p.m. yet?  I look at my watch.  It’s 9:05 a.m.  I notice a gleam of light streaming through my black pants.  WTF is this?  There are not one – but THREE holes in the crotch of my pants.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Three holes?  Was I even awake this morning when I got dressed?  You remember what happened last time I was half asleep and dressing….I lost my DKNYs!  In the Dunkin Donuts parking lot!  After I pooped my pants!  

It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone.  I’ve always been cute and trendy.  When did I become frumpy and fugly?  I look like someone I would make fun of – flat slip-on shoes, hair tied up in a bun.  I look like the girl down the hall who works for one of the many attorneys in my building.  Let me tell you, attorneys can’t dress.  They only dress like Ally McBeal on TV.  Every day she walks by and I think she looks like a librarian.  And not a sexy librarian.  A frumpy librarian.  Like I’m one to talk now.  Not that I look like a librarian…I still have my big hoop earrings and my Juicy Couture watch and my Coach handbag.  And my slip-ons are sparkly…and Bebe.  Maybe I’m starting to look like a MOM?   

Or maybe God is trying to humble me.  Oh God, please don’t do this to me.  Haven’t you messed with me enough lately?  I don’t have that great of a personality so you’ve got to give me something!  And I refuse to be a Kate Gosselin 5-years-ago mom.  I insist on being more the Demi Moore today mom – you know, hot, sophisticated and can still bring those young guys home! Owwwww!!!!!!!!!!   

Or maybe it’s my prego brain.  I’m just too tired and discombobulated in the morning to “get it together.”  Gee, I wonder how I’ll be after I have to get myself – and a bambino – ready and out the door.  I fear this is only the beginning of frumpy and fugly mom.  Where does it go from here?  Sweat pants and scrunchies????   

As I wash my hands I stare at myself in the mirror.  I want to cry.  Where is cute, fun, happy Jen?  Who is this biotch staring back at me?  Well…I guess cute, fun and happy is kind of stretch there really.  I’m more cute, stylish and intense?  Or cute, snotty and down right awesome, i.e., self-absorbed but still has a sweet side.  Let’s go with that.  My blog is titled “If You Think I’m a B*tch So Be It” after all.  

I look in the mirror and stare at my zit…and my dull pale skin (L.A. Tan, how I miss you)…and my ginormous breasts…and my fat ass and I think, “Toughen up chick!”  Who is this wimp staring back at me in the mirror?  Good lord, I could kick that whiney bitch’s ass!  

It’s time to give myself a pep talk.  I am in SERIOUS need of a pep talk.   

I need a time-out.  It’s time to toughen up, soldier!  I have so much confusion and anxiety about becoming a mother that I don’t even remember who I really am anymore?   

The real Jen is no bullshit…the real Jen doesn’t take anyone’s crap….the real Jen is a loud-mouth, drunken Italian bitch who means well yet always manages to get in trouble.  The real Jen is quite charming – I have to be to get out of these messes one way or another! – and the real Jen is strong-willed,  stubborn and independent.  The real Jen doesn’t need anyone on God’s green Earth to survive.  The real Jen could say hello or good-bye…  

So I ask you…Who is this wimp staring me in the face?  Who is this weak and insecure girl?  Well this whiney bitch got her ass beat today!  And I’m back!   

Now…if only I can combat this fugly problem.  Then I will be officially back in business.  Bear with me Readers…we’ve got 14 weeks to go!  

P.S. I did put in pennies for my “F” word slip-ups.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s