Don’t forget to enter my latest giveaway for a pair of delicious hand-knitted mittens for your favorite little toddler!! (click here to enter the contest!)

Also, I just got word from Arla-Shay that she’ll knit a pair of mittens for a boy if you’d prefer!!

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So last week I had my first Cletus the Fetus doctor appointment. Finally, this pregnancy is starting to feel more “real”.

You know, more real than feeling like I’m going to vomit every 5 minutes.

I realized about a week ago that due to the twelve months of constant humping and constant disappointment (not necessary due to all the humping) to get this baby in my ute, that I’m a lot more cautious. I mean, I know this baby is in there and most likely isn’t going anywhere, I just haven’t wanted to get myself too excited after so long, just to have something tragic happen after all that wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’…

But I digress…

Last week, well, something great happened! We got to see our little Cletus for the first time!!

Isn’t he/she just darling? It’s okay, you can say it…it IS the cutest little fetus you’ve ever seen, right?

And while just being in an OB/GYN’s office definitely puts you in the “woohoo! I’m pregnant!” frame of mind, it also reminded me of what lays ahead.

Like the elaborate prepping-for-surgery-esque work you have to do to your vagina before just peeing in a cup.

And having to walk around the office and get home with a vagina full of KY Jelly after a vaginal ultrasound (which, trust me, isn’t as fun as it sounds) or a lucky visit with a “full exam”.

And the potentially embarrassing Biggest Loser weigh-in each visit. Every time I go in, I still ask if they want me to take off my shoes, coat, purse, clothes, underwear…anything to make that number smaller, right? (Thank god it’s still early and I’ve only gain 4 pounds. That will change soon, my friends. Soon.)

Side note: I totally thought I was starting to “show” until I sat amidst a bunch of women who were at least 8 months pregnant. Then I just felt like I was in an episode of “One of these things is not like the other…”

I’m starting to get really excited about Cletus (and even more excited for the little dude to get the fuck off my bladder sometime soon), but what other things did I forget with my Momnesia (you know, that helpful little thing that makes you forget all the shitty aspects of pregnancy so that you are dumb enough to try it again)?

Song title: Doctor Time by Rick Trevino

Hello, Lovies!!

What?

It’s me!

MAMA BEE.

I know, I know, I’ve been MIA for like, well, FOREVER. But good news! The bitch is back, baby!

After having a head cold for roughly two months (no, that is not a typo) and Cletus the Fetus slowly and steadily sucking the life force out of my body, I finally feel like a human being again.

Mind you, still a pregnant human being, but one that can type on the computer for more than five minutes without becoming comatose and wanting to crawl in to a hole and cry until I die of nausea and exhaustion.

Needless to say, the last few weeks have been aaaaaawesome.

And can I say something else? If you can at all plan around it, DO NOT get pregnant right before the holidays. I think I counted like EIGHT events that I had to do sober, including Mr. Bee’s company party, which unfortunately I was too pukey to attend anyway.

Which, by the way, turns out to be an easy way to tell people at work that your wife is pregnant. I imagine just saying that your wife feels like throwing up when she thinks of the company Christmas party doesn’t go over as well if your wife isn’t pregnant…

Anywho and whatnot, this week should be full of party recaps: Santabator, The Kidnapping (or Batornapping) of Santabator and his eventual return, and the glorious and hilarious Glitter Extravaganza Party!

So stay tuned, bitches!

Song title: The Bitch Is Back by Elton John

Lesson #2: You thought you had food issues before getting pregnant…

So, you just found out you’re pregnant. Congrats? Let the slow descent in to your own personal hell begin.

If you are four to six weeks pregnant, I thoroughly recommend binging on all of your favorite foods right this second.

No, really. We’ll wait.

…

…

Done shoving all that yummy-ness in to your pie hole?

Great. Because in approximately 12 seconds, before you know what’s hit you, every single food item will sound absolutely nauseating.

And I’m not just talking about thinking that your favorite tuna noodle casserole isn’t really hitting the spot right now. I’m talking every. single. food. item making you want to retch.

It starts off slowly. One day you just aren’t very hungry. No big deal, right?

But the next day, things start to kind of ick you out.

Pretty soon, you’ll be watching television and spot this on 112 commercials per minute:

Instead of being arguably mouth-watering, something as simple as a burger reminds you of this:

[imagine photo of dog poop here]

I would’ve posted a disgusting photo of a dog pooping, but the photos on Google Images have (1) scarred me for the rest of my life, (2) most definitely will cause some really fucking disturbing pregnancy dreams tonight, and (3) made me throw up in my mouth a lot.

So buckle down, ladies. We’ve only have about eight more weeks of this until we switch from hating all food to eating all food.

Holy shit. That’s like TWO MONTHS.

Fuck.

Song title: Alien Food by The Alien Kids

I totally wasn’t going to blog today because I’m super worthless, but I didn’t think this novel would be Facebook update appropriate.

So I’m totally convinced that I’m have been impregnated with a vampire baby.

Here is my reasoning:

1. I’m super sensitive to sunlight today. Now I’m going with the more traditional sunlight-kills-vampires theory here, not the sunlight-just-makes-me-more-beautiful Twilight theory.

2. My contacts are apparently being destroyed by my caustic eye boogers. This is causing me to tear up constantly and pretty much blinds me. It probably doesn’t help that the only glasses I own are an old prescription and are so scratched it looks like I stored them in a blender. Filled with gravel. And savage cats with sharpened claws.

That’d be a pretty disgusting blender.

3. Obviously Cletus the Fetus is a vampire because of his/her rapid growth. I mean, I just went from having rock hard abs to a ferocious muffin top in like three days. There’s just no way that I had those love handles before and never noticed them, right?

Stop laughing.

4. Bee is a fucking crazy face today. Seriously, she either woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or is a werewolf and therefore suspicious of the vampire baby in my womb. I’m going with the werewolf theory until proven wrong.

5. I am so exhausted today that I can hardly keep my eyes open. My caustic eye boogers/melting contact lenses aren’t helping the situation either. Obviously, my vampire baby is sucking the life energy out of me.

Well, there it is. Five undeniable reasons why I have been impregnated with Edward Cullen’s baby.

So far I’m only craving Little Ceasar’s Crazy Bread. I hope blood isn’t next.

Song title: Sunlight Theory by Ben Liebrand

Something that I’ve been throwing around in my head for a while is using this blog to chronicle all the ups, downs, ins, outs and way fucked up things about having children (and being pregnant) that no one but your most intimate girlfriends would tell you.

Like the fact that, yes, you WILL drop a deuce during labor. And you know what? No one gives a fuck. Especially yourself because you will be too preoccupied with pushing a baby out your vag-hole. I mean, there are so many other things you could be freaking out about right now.

Just to be clear, my intention is always to educate mom-to-be’s so they don’t freak out when they realize that they might have to dunk their lady bits in a weird pink asshole bubble bath every day after they blow out their vag.

But, somehow, my stories of pregnancy, labor/delivery and post-pregnancy always seems to scare the shit out of my non-parent friends.

I have no idea why. (Be afraid, be very afraid)

All of my “lessons” will be easily found under the “The More You Know (and more than you ever wanted to know)” tag. You can use the shiny little badge to the right over there to find it with a simple click! And, of course, I always want to hear about what you learned during your pregnancy that you think other women should know!!

Lesson #1: High School Health Teachers are full of shit.

Remember back in high school when your health teacher, Ms. Giste, told you all about how easy it is to get knocked up and that you really should abstain and/or use 85 forms of birth control or you will totally get pregnant because it is THAT easy?

Will you do me a favor? Reach way far back in your head and tell your cute little skinny 17-year-old self to punch Ms. Giste in the nuts. Hard.

Because, while that advice surely does pertain to young people and everyone in the world who doesn’t want to get pregnant, it is never that easy for the people who REALLY want to get pregnant.

And having a shriveled up uterus from being in your mid to (cough) late twenties probably doesn’t help.

When I was a naive little 26 year old, Mr. Bee and I decided to start trying to conceive Baby Bee (otherwise known as Felix the Fetus until we knew the gender). Since I had been on The Pill for a few years, I figured it would take a little while to get pregnant. What I didn’t realize is that it is quite common for it to take six months or longer to get knocked up.

So 7 months after we had started “trying”, we finally got knocked up with Bee.

With The Pills and everything, it totally made sense, but since we have didn’t any pills to get out of our system with Baby Numero Dos, it should be pretty immediate, right?

And it was.

You know, if by “immediate” you mean “a long ass time”.

I know that some people can get pregnant by simply winking at their spouse, but I was never blessed with that kind of fertility super powers.

Side note: What would that superhero look like? Well, first, she’d probably always be knocked up, right? Like Mrs. Duggar with a cape. And obviously she’d need to wear some Depends for all that post-baby incontinence (oh yes, that is another post all on its own). So basically a soft, Mrs. Duggar-esque, Depends-wearing, vagina-hurting Super Fertility Woman.

Yeah, that would suck.

And I always worry for those women who are deciding to get pregnant a little later in life because they seem to think that they’ll decide to get pregnant and *poof* it will just happen.

I know I did.

And there is no convincing someone who isn’t 100% ready for a baby that they should try sooner rather than later to get those eggos fertilized before they turn in to omelets.

And that’s not even the totally wacked out part. Did you realize that there is only like a four-day window in your cycle each month that will likely lead to a Felix in your utero?!

I swear it’s not until you actually start trying to get knocked up that you realize all those years of trying your damnest to avoid it might have been a little overkill.

So for all those people who think that getting pregnant is easy peasy? Obviously you haven’t had to time, chart, and otherwise plan their babymakings (to be followed, of course, with the literally foot-numbing activity of sticking your ass in the air after every babymakin’ session.)

Because nothing says romantic like, “Hey honey? Can you shove that pillow under my ass before you fall asleep?”

Song title: Live and Learn by Crush 40

Being that I’m a whooping almost five weeks pregnant (which is awesome since two of those weeks I hadn’t even ovulated yet – I love pregnancy math), I’ve already begun my downward spiral in to Worry Wartdom.

I don’t even think the pee was dry on the pregnancy test before I started worrying…

“Will the baby be okay?”

“Should I (I mean, we) tell people immediately or should we wait a while?”

Okay, I didn’t really hesitate to tell every. single. person I know. I even told Mr. Bee.

Does it matter that he was the second person to know?

Let’s just say that it was a huge improvement from when I found out I was pregnant with Bee. I think Mr. Bee was roughly fourth or fifth to know that time. So I’m getting better at it, right?

Back to worrying, I am pretty much worrying non-stop that any minute I will start my period. I’m still taking my basal temperatures for a few days and the fact that it has stayed pretty constant (but not risen) has me beyond imagining the worst. (Un)luckily, I am totally sick too, which is my way of rationalizing the temperature thing.

But I’ll admit it. I even check my underwear roughly eight trillion times a day to make sure that when I coughed 12 times in a row, I only peed myself a little and didn’t start bleeding.

And so far, it’s only been pee.

Wow. That’s a sentence you were looking forward to reading, huh? You’re welcome.

Anywho, if anyone has a magical way to forget all the first trimester pregnancy worries and/or cement that little bastard so far in to my uterine wall that my doctor will need a Dyson and some Goo Be Gone to get him (or her) out, please don’t hesitate to post them below.

But just in case those two things don’t exist, you could always post your biggest pregnancy worry, too. I could always use more ammo when I telling Mr. Bee that I have to sit on my ass all day or I might miscarry.

Song title: Don’t Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin

Our story begins more than a week ago when I started to be slowly killed by a soul-sucking cold. I’ve been coughing like a 60-year-old smoker, sniffling like a crack whore and by Thanksgiving week, I had cold-induced pink eye which left me tearing up constantly like a over-emotional…well…me.

I was really the picture of perfection (like always, duh). To top off the week, I barely grazed the countertop with my wedding ring and **ka-chink** out falls my diamond on to the stove top range. Thank GAWD that this happened at home. I won’t lie, a bit of me dies inside when I think about it happening outside the house. (excuse me while I vomit in my mouth a bit)

So, really, I was having a super awesome week. I woke up last Wednesday morning and even though Fertility Friend was yelling at me that it wasn’t time to test yet, my obsessive need to pee on things took over and I dug out a pregnancy test from my stockpile. Because, yes, I have a stockpile of pee sticks. Doesn’t everybody?

After peeing in a cup (because that’s the only way to do it really), I ceremoniously dipped my pee stick in and set in on the bathroom counter to watch my pee work it’s way up that little, but oh-so-powerful, stick.

…

…

…
and this is what I saw:

This is when I realized that I have no idea what the fuck those little lines meant.

I scrambled back in to my drawer o’ pregnancy tests and fumbled for the results guide. Sadly, I read that one horizontal line means “Meow meow, not pregnant. Too bad, so sad.”

Disappointed but convinced that I simply tested too early in my cycle (again), I turned back to confirm the results. That’s when I saw this:

Shut the front door.

Immediately, I did what every other woman trying to get pregnant does. I grabbed another handful of tests and plopped those bastards in to my Dixie cup of pee.

Because while deciphering between a “-” and a “+” is a little tricky, there’s no doubting a big “NOT PREGNANT” or “PREGNANT” readout on a digital test. Even a monkey can do that (and I assure you, in the morning, my IQ is right down there with spider monkeys).

And what to my wondrous eyes should appear,
but a sparkling digital readout saying “there’s a fetus is here”.

Seriously, shut the fuck up.

I’m pregnant?

I’m……pregnant?!

I’M PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In true Mama Bee fashion, I am now telling everyone I know or, in most cases, don’t know. But you can’t tell me that those Target cashiers didn’t want to hear all about my fertility issues because, come on.

Now please don’t worry about the state of the blog. Many a blogger has proclaimed that they don’t want to bore their readers by posting every mundane pregnancy symptom and/or story on their blog.

Yeah, I’m so not one of those bloggers.

I truly believe that you, my tens of readers, have a right to read all about my boobs feeling tender and the frequency of my urination. And, really, who I am to deny you of that?

If anyone is interested, I’ve linked all my pregnancy-related posts right over there on the sidebar where it says “The More You Know”. Enjoy!

Song title: Pregnant Again by Unknown Hinson

Remember that one time that I wrote about going to the Chinese Needle Torture acupuncturist and being totally stoked about it?

Yeah, well you’ll need to reread that post next week because my acupuncture lady went and got the flu the morning of my appointment.

How rude, right?

After I woke up at the butt crack of dawn to shower and fuss over what outfit to wear, I got a phone call canceling the appointment about five minutes before I was going to leave the house.

Honestly, I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to it until it was canceled and I was crushed to have to wait until next week to have needles jabbed in me. Seriously, I’m actually really looking forward to it.

But I do need to take a minute to clarify something: I didn’t REALLY think that I was going to have to strip neked and put my feet in stirrups to get needles shoved in to my baby hole, people. I might be weird and crazy but I’m not stupid.

I was going to make a needles in my labia joke just now but after yesterday I’m worried that you people would think that I’m serious.

Oh and sorry for making you read the word “labia”, Dad.

Okay, I just threw up in my mouth a little at the thought of my dad reading that.

Labia jokes aside, I have been reassured by many a reader that I will only have to have needles stuck in my wrists, ankles and/or face.

That’s a relief. (/sarcasm)

On other fertility-related fronts, I have discovered recently that there are two things a woman who is attempting to get knocked up shouldn’t do:

1. Organize and put away all of her daughter’s clothes from when she was a iddle biddy bebe.

2. Finally organize the second “kid’s room” (which requires pretty much setting up the room as a complete nursery).

Don’t get me wrong, the OCD/anal side of me is thrilled to have the room transformed from Baby Junk Dumping Ground to Cletus the Fetus Nursery, but just when I thought I couldn’t crave a baby any more…

WHAM!!

Now I get to pass a pretty little nursery every day just waiting for that goddamn Stork to drop on by.

And sorting through all of those adorable little 6-12 month outfits?

T.O.R.T.U.R.E.

I mean, really.

How could you see these outfits and not have your ovaries go “Squeeeeeeee!!”?

Song title: I Was Only Joking by Rod Stewart

In my short term as a parent, I have learned many lessons.

1. No matter how hard you try or how punctual you were before giving birth, children = tardiness. You just have to get used to it and realize that all the other parents will be late, too.

2. You will end up saying “Because I said so” roughly 8 trillion times even though you swore you’d never say that to your kids.

3. When your (or someone else’s) child gets hurt while doing something retarded, it’s better to laugh on the inside and not out loud. Unless you have cool mommy friends, in which case you’ll all be laughing too hard to judge each other for laughing so hard.

4. Television might not be recommended by your pediatrician, but I assure you that your therapist will recommend it after you go insane from putting that Backyardigans puzzle together for the 850th time. Today.

5. There will never again be “a quick run to the store.”

6. When you repeatedly hear “Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa. Maa.” remember not to immediately snap and say, “WHAT?!?!?!” Your daughter could simply be making goat sounds. (Oops)

7. No matter how hard you try, you are never going to be able to force your toddler to eat one. more. bite. unless they want to.

8. More recently, I discovered that, although well-intentioned, it might not always be efficient to accept help from your toddler.

Take a few weeks ago for example. Mr. Bee was assisting me in folding some of Bee’s laundry in the family room. Bee immediately wanted to help and started by fetching clothes from Mr. Bee and mimicking us by shaking out each article of clothing.

Figuring that they had everything covered on their own, I snuck away to do something equally as important. Most likely I was watching my “stories” upstairs while eating bon bons.

When I came back in to the room a while later, this is what I found:

Apparently, Bee has her own style of folding laundry which consists of taking a piece of clothing, placing gently on the floor, and stomping the shit out of it until it’s completely flat. Find a new piece of clothing and repeat until the entire floor is covered.

Maybe #9 should be: Always remember to vacuum your floor before letting your daughter “help” with the laundry.

Song title: Laundry Day by Roger Roloff

Baby Bee has a new obsession.

While not spectacular in any way, shape, or form (for sure!), Bee is captivated by my breasts.

She will pinch them, grab them and, my particular favorite, lift up my shirt to make sure they are still there (I can only assume).

She will also dig through our dirty clean laundry to find one of my bras, which she promptly wants to wear and will hold up to her chest until I help her.

All of this is completely adorable…

…at home.

But last week, when we were out on our shopping trip from hell, Bee decided to bring her love of my bewbs to the public.

Specifically the ultra quiet Apple Store.

Where she proceeded to attempt to disrobe me and/or look down my shirt while screeching “BOOBIES!! BOOBIES!!”.

Needless to say, I could’ve died.

I could have LITERALLY melted in to the floor in a pile of humiliation.

Maybe if they (my boobs) were a little more impressive and not the sad, saggy feed sacks they’ve become Thanks to Bee, I’d be all, “Yeah, buddy. That’s right. These ARE my boobies! Jealous?!”

So what have your little Gremlins done to you in public that embarrassed the shit out of you?

Song title: My Humps by Black Eyed Peas