Before we start, I’d like to remind the beforeskinned of you out there that the tickets to the Euro/UK tour that Dan Andriano (of the Alkaline Trio) and I are going on this June/July went on sale this morning and according to sources, they’re going fast. We’re playing all little rooms, so get your tix while you can folks, because they won’t be around for long. You can get the links to where to get the tickets for the show nearest you here.
Okay, yesterday was the first in my new series entitled ‘the bullshit that you don’t really hear about parenting,’ as inspired by an article I read that purported to be the no bullshit guide to parenting that we’ve all been waiting for, but was, in actuality, the equivalent of a drunk Oprah guest throwing a few ‘fuck that’s into her tired old recipe for raising healthy kids. This is not that. Up next: You’ve finally squeezed a human being (and a bag of guts) out of your vagina. What now? Welcome to:
Your Dignity Is Gone, Thanks To Pregnancy and Thank God It Is, Because It Would Only Get In The Way.
(Slight disclaimer: I’m a male, and most of this is about the female experience, and while I stand by everything below being more or less universal, I’m ignoring all the aspects that include feeling super womanly and maternal and the pregnancy glow and all that spiritual woman stuff, not because it’s not true, but because you can read about that shit anywhere. That’s all you ever hear about with this shit, so this is the rest of the story, not the counterpoint at all, again, from an admittedly outside perspective).
Up until you get pregnant, and even up through the first part of pregnancy when you’re just ordering virgin margaritas and pretending to be drunk (so your friends won’t lose their minds if you sneeze too hard and trigger an extra rough period before shit really settles), your life is more or less a myopic exercise in your own presentation. Every option, whether you’re jumping up on a bar and pulling out your dick/tits (usually a great time) or wearing a sportcoat to study in the library are the manifestation of your idea of who you are and how you should behave. You have standards of decency (whatever they may be) and proper conduct (again, subject to interpretation) and your exterior is a billboard fraught with lies and attempts to conceal the weirdo that you actually are inside.
BUT, once pregnancy really kicks in, weird shit starts to happen. Pregnant women are uncomfortable a lot. They snore, they fart, they have to piss ungodly amounts, they have trouble shitting and (and this is the big one) they have to go to a lot of doctors. By the time you’re really, really pregnant, so many people will have casually examined your tits and had their hands in your pussy, you’ll feel like you’re back in Cancun. This will all happen in rooms full of people, and the closer to the big day you get, the grosser you’ll feel, the more farting you’ll do and the more people will be in the room putting things in you and generally making sure that all the different parts of you are doing all the different shit that needs to happen for a human being to march out of your vagina. This will happen in front of your babydaddy, who will try to leave the room and be told (over and over again) that he may as well get used to shit like this, because it’s not getting any prettier from here out.
By the time you’re in labor, you’re feeling like a disgusting whale and there’s blood and pain and screaming and sometimes shit and farts (I witnessed no shitting during our deliveries…this is a source of pride for my wife and I’d be remiss to not overtly state that there was no delivery-shitting during the birth of my kids)…you know, I say sometimes, but there’s enough of a chance of shits and blood that when you’re pushing, the nurses put a fucking wheeled industrial-strength garbage can under you to catch the shits you won’t even know you’re dropping. Then, all sorts of other goop slides out of you, the baby arrives and suddenly it’s tits out (your tits are probably already kind of out already) to try and feed this little monster and boom! Your parents and your inlaws are right there in the room. Someone may be sewing up your hoo-ha, or even sewing your asshole back together, depending on how brutal shit has been. You’re gonna have trouble with going to the bathroom that you can’t ignore or pretend isn’t happening for a while. You’re gonna be wearing big pads in your underwear that makes you feel like you’re wearing diapers and your tits will be leaking all the time. Your body will have changed drastically in ways you cannot comprehend until you see it go down. The Dad, if he’s not a shithead, will be right there for all of this and have had no choice but to have gone through all of these discoveries with you. He will have DONE it to you. He will feel guilty for having done this to you and he will be (whether he knows it or not) gearing up for the feeling of utter dicklessness that accompanies being the father of a newborn (more on that in a bit).
At this point, that old you that gave a fuck about every last detail, that old you that had enough sexual mystique that you felt like you were doing something special when you let a dude take off your panties will have had her tits out in a room of people asking her about how well she’s been shitting while she felt as gross as she’s ever felt. She will have had strangers ask her if her vagina is torn. She will have had no choice but to forgo her meticulous pube sculpting for months. She’ll be used to (for months and months) going to doctors and talking to strangers about the color and consistency of her vaginal discharge. In short, that old you will be so on the ropes that you’re not gonna feel like the same person at all. And thank god, because dignity only gets in the way when you’re parenting. Besides, you’re gonna have NO TIME to do anything anymore, even the shit you hate, which is what’s up next. Tune in on Monday for “You’ve got no time to even do the shit you hate anymore.”
Have a good weekend.