The Zombies Are Coming! (A Year in Review)

Last year, I finally got myself knocked up. It's kind of a Big Deal, because I was 30 and I'm pretty sure my mother had given up hope on getting any grandchildren out of me. It was a surprise, but we were all quite pleased when the little pee stick turned up with two lines. Of course, that was after I figured out how to use it properly. I wish I was kidding, there, but I'll chalk that one up to baby brain setting in early.

To any of you ladies reading this and hoping to turn up pregnant some day, let me assure you that Baby Brain is a true affliction. Babies ought to be stamped with, "Warning: Baby will cause you to get the stupids" from the Surgeon General. Pre-pregnancy, I considered myself of average intelligence and average common sense. As soon as gestation began, I turned into a flaming moron. There were many incidents but the highlights are as follows: Pushing on a door that was clearly marked 'Pull', licking the lid on a bottle of hot sauce to test the temperature, taking the trash out with no pants on while a family in an SUV looked on, and ruining 3 meals in a row before finally setting the kitchen on fire. Sadly, this syndrome shows no signs of letting up.

As far as pregnancies go, mine was fairly uneventful as long as one can overlook the insatiable need for salt (Slim Jims became a necessity) and the constant vomiting. I often checked with Chris to make sure I was behaving within the norm, asking, "I'm not that bad, am I?" He would flinch in terror and respond with, "Of course not, honey." Heh, heh, heh. And listen, any person with an ounce of sense should fear zombies so it's completely rational that I would often wake him up in the middle of the night, crying "THE ZOMBIES ARE COMING" before falling back into a more peaceful slumber. Because now that he was aware of our impending doom, it was his problem, not mine. Needless to say, Chris didnt get much sleep during my pregnancy but I am completely okay with that.

I have to say my biggest complaint about being pregnant was the constant peeing. You really cant understand what this means until you are peeing for two. I spent more time in bathroom stalls during my second and third trimester than the whole of my life. I kept joking about getting a catheter put in but I firmly believe they should be prescribed for the last few months. I became a connoisseur of public restrooms, maintaining a mental list of which ones were acceptable and which ones could be utilized in a sticky situation. The only entertainment value I got from the constant potty breaks was the time I scared the hell out of a Deputy Sheriff. I'm not ashamed to say that I got a certain amount of glee out of the whole ordeal but listen, he was blocking my route to the restroom. He brought it on himself.

My second biggest complaint were the people who felt it necessary to share. Every time I showed my pregnant belly out in public, people always felt the need to tell me their story. It was sort of magnetic, and compulsory. One time, while in a convenience store a gentleman cornered me and expounded upon his wife's experiences with such enthusiasm that I decided right then and there I knew what shut in's were all about. Which isnt to say that anyone was rude. They were all just so excited by my watermelon belly. Chris kept telling me to just say, "I'm not pregnant, it's just from a lot of beer," but I felt my ego couldnt weather that.

My third biggest complaint would be the whole 9 month time frame. Frankly, it's a lie. 40 weeks does not equal 9 months in my book and while you might be sitting here thinking, "Well really, you're just splitting hairs," it's kind of am important distinction to those of us looking at our watches and tapping our toes thinking, "Will you just get here, already. I've got things to do. Like drink a margarita, color my hair and gorge on sushi, okay?" Don't judge me.

My daughter was born one fine day in April, 2011. For some reason, I was thoroughly convinced that she would come out of the womb quoting Einstein's theories on quantum physics with a beauty crown already firmly attached to her head and that her dirty diapers would be full of roses. Much to my chagrin, it hasnt exactly worked out that way. I may have brought this upon myself with expectations that were an eensy bit high, but hell, after carrying her around for 9 months and being at the mercy of some well-aimed kicks mixed with unceasing nausea, I thought I had a right to aim high.

Instead of being a rocket scientist, she shows all the hallmarks of being devious and cunning. Those are traits that I would normally admire but since she is my child and I have the duty of raising her for the next ohhhh forever, it strikes fear into my heart. The diapers, ah yes the diapers. They are not, in fact, full of roses. They have some of the most foul substances I have ever encountered and since I am formerly an EMT that worked in the D.C. Metro area, that's a bold statement. This utterly confuses me, as she only eats formula. The same formula, same amount, same kind of water. SO WHY DOES IT CHANGE COLORS? And while she did not have a crown on her head she is pretty darn cute. I realize that I might be a wee bit biased, but I know it to be true because of a conversation that was had directly after her birth at the hospital. My two best friends, Anna and Melissa, traveled down to be there for her birth. When they met her for the first time, they said, "Oh, she's so beautiful!" You might be skeptical so let me assure you they followed that statement up with, "We're so glad we dont have to lie. We spent the whole car ride down asking, 'What if we have to lie to Christine?', and we're so glad that we dont have too."

I tried unsuccessfully to deliver naturally and had to have a c-section. Chris likened the whole surgery bit to a pit stop for NASCAR drivers: a crew of 20 people all working at a furious pace, complete with drills going in the background. They had her out in under 10minutes. While in the OR, he kept telling me to look to my left. I looked to my left, I was pretty sure it was my left and was confused as to why he wanted me to look at a cabinet full of stupid medical supplies. I feel I should touch on the fact that I really thought those medical supplies were stupid, too. Not just a passing annoyance but objects that werent worth the room they were taking up. Then, they brought the baby around to the left and I figured out why he wanted me to look in that direction, but the supplies were still stupid. He left me briefly to go introduce himself to our daughter and came back proclaiming, "Good news, honey, she doesnt look like an alien." To which I replied, "Good, I dont want an ugly baby." Did I mention they give you the really good stuff for a c-section? Yeah.

I was very glad to learn that I hadnt somehow screwed her up while she was in the womb. To clarify, I didnt do anything super bad. I skipped the sushi and alcohol (although there's nothing like being told you can't drink to make a person want to go on a 3 day bender) but couldn't give up the soda and goat cheese. With all of the do's and don'ts and medical information so readily available at a single Google search it's no wonder all of us mothers are paranoid about giving birth to 3 toed cyclopses. I mean, even lunch meat is off limits for preggos. Really people? REALLY? So imagine my profound relief to realize that I hadnt irreparably damaged my poor child for going on that one silly little amusement park ride in my 1st trimester.

So here I sit, with my 2 month old daughter by my side. She's a lot of hard work and all of these well meaning people keep saying, "But you wouldnt give her up for anything, right?" I give the expected polite response but a secret part of me thinks, "I might, for one solid good night's sleep followed by an afternoon nap the next day." I get points for not saying that out loud, right?