I will be the worst pregnant woman. Ever.

I’m only having one child. Not for any personal reasons. Please. I’m Irish Catholic.

(Although to be honest, we kind of failed at the whole have-a-soccer-team-without-leaving-your-house thing. There are only five grandchildren in my mom’s family. My dad’s Polish relatives thoroughly beat us- there are like thirteen or something. Even the ex-seminarian has six! Probably a good thing he’s ex.)

No, it’s because I will be the most unpleasant pregnant woman ever, and no man is ever going to want to have sex with me again after nine months of having to exist with me, the most unpleasant pregnant woman ever.

This occurred to me on Monday as I was stress-eating my way through whatever was left from Christmas and obsessively checking for my grades. It’s not even just the wait, there’s no coffee or NyQuil in pregnancy? What??? And the fact that I know my body and wow, I’m going to be epic. I don’t put on weight prettily. I’m not going to be prime-time-sitcom-pretty-little-baby-bump pregnant, I’m going to be TLC-reality-harsh-lighting pregnant. No. Not just that.

I don’t do well waiting for results. It’s not necessarily that I’m impatient like a child, it’s just that I…well…am impatient like a child. The whole grade thing? I’m pretty sure I have an ulcer. Waiting for acceptance or rejection from grad schools? I’m ready to go to Northwestern and hold the head of admissions’ child hostage until he renders a decision.

(Also? My maternal instincts have only thus far been activated by the iPhone.)

Imagine nine months of major waiting. What if I don’t like the baby? What if the baby doesn’t like me and I love the baby? What if it’s a boy? What if it’s sick? Are you still in there? It’s been like five months. What if his father murders me in my sleep? That happens a lot you know. Oh my God, he’s going to kill me. What if the baby is ugly? What if it’s a girl? Still in there? WHY? What if the epidural doesn’t work? What if my mom doesn’t like it? What if she’s stupid? Am I going to annoy my own baby with my academic snobbery? What if someone cuts it out of me like that one CSI episode? Are you coming out yet? What if I have an episiotomy? That’s really gross. SERIOUSLY BE BORN ALREADY.

Oh. It’s not going to be pretty.

Maybe that’s why I’m single right now- no one could go through the waiting for acceptance into a graduate program and having a baby with me. It’s not human.

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