My Preggo-Pants Friend Scarred Me for Life

There are few things in the universe that terrify me more than the idea of getting knocked up. The whole idea makes my uterus contemplate running away screaming and flailing ovaries to and fro. 

I have no objections to the idea of being a mother. I have always wanted to have kiddos. Also, I've got the Hubs, who would be an amazing father and would make me some heart-meltingly adorable babies. My fear consists solely of the nine month gestation period where my body would be hosting an adorable little parasite. Yes, it would be worth it... blah, blah, blah. I couldn't agree more. The problem is that some of my momma friends, specifically my dear friend Preggo-Pants, shared entirely too many of the "joys" of pregnancy in vivid detail. They call me their friend yet these bitches have scarred me for life! They are MY BITCHES so that was meant in the most loving of ways. 

I do have one friend who had a glorious pregnancy during which she felt even more amazing than she did sans-fetus. However, this particular friend is a much nicer person than I am and karma is a fickle little hussie... She is the friend who has absolutely no enemies because she's so kind, friendly and generally wonderful to everyone. Similarly, I am a nice person in general, I am a softie on certain things, and I do have a big heart. However as her opposite, I am also sarcastic, a TAD bitchy, and speak my mind - opinions be damned. I don't have any true enemies, but I have people who dislike my witty sarcasm and/or dislike hearing the truth. I also don't really care if those people dislike me - they can suck it. This leads me to believe that when the time comes for my uterus to be used as a rental unit, that karma will break out her bitchy side and let all hell break loose upon my unsuspecting body. 

Since karma is a bitch, and so am I...there are certain unfortunate baby-hosting effects that I can't help but believe will happen to me. My current third greatest fear entails some or all of the following things happening to me while renting out my womb:

1. Becoming a "House" instead of a Rental - I took the liberty of combining two completely separate metaphors here. No, I am not scared that I will somehow become impregnated with a squatter who will stay and make my uterus a permanent home. I have a legitimate fear that while my uterus is being used as a rental, my body may become the SIZE OF A FREAKING HOUSE despite my deliberate exercise and healthy eating habits. I have just spent the past year working my ass off on Weight Watchers and turning my lifestyle around to lose 40 pounds. I have about 15 more to lose before I reach my goal weight. The absolute LAST thing I want to do at this point is gain a butt-load of unnecessary weight while pregnant. I am determined to be one of those pregnant women who eats perfectly healthy and exercises (I'm going to need a Jillian Michaels or someone in my ear to accomplish this I think). However, I have heard of women who gain absurd amounts of weight even though they eat right and exercise, because apparently karma fucking hates them. Clearly. I'll be mega-pissed if I worked this hard to lose weight only to get fatty-mcfatterson again against my will. 
2. Wolverine Scars - Isn't it enough that I already own enough stretch marks to span the Great Wall of China due to my previous stint of being a fat-ass? Is it really necessary for me to develop the kind that look like evidence of my abs having an unfriendly run-in with Wolverine? I liked X-Men, but I certainly do not want to look like I fought one. Coincidentally, I also get the shiny kind of stretch marks that look iridescent, so they would look all the more like the remnants of a battle with a fictional superhero. When I get knocked up I expect that each of my true girlfriends will bring me a giant tub of cocoa butter as a "welcome to pregnancy" gift. I intend to bathe in the stuff.
3. Giggle-Tinkle - I had a friend who during the majority of her pregnancy, would pee herself a little bit almost every time she laughed. Even sometimes randomly without laughing as well. It reached a point that we couldn't even joke about things around her for fear of a change in panties being necessitated. That is horrifying! I should not have to change diapers BEFORE I have a baby - especially not my own. Then god-forbid that nonsense continues to happen after pregnancy - I have heard of that happening with some ladies I know as well. F that game. I do not want to be wearing diapers after my kid finally gets potty-trained or takes the SAT. I don't want to wear them at all actually - tampons are my limit in that realm - and pads are only allowed in my life due to dire necessity. 
4. Morning Sickness - If "Morning Sickness" were actually confined to the wee hours of the morning, which I despise anyway, I would not mind as much. Mornings already make me want to gag at the thought, so I'm not sure it would be a huge transition on my part. Alas, some heinous bitch named it "morning sickness" in an effort to deceive all the young mothers-to-be. I'm sure she meant well, and didn't want to scare the young ladies by informing them that "morning sickness" can in reality last the entire first trimester, with no restrictions on time of day. However, I think it was dirty, dirty trickery on her part because I cannot possibly plan adequately around the fact that I may or may not get all vomity at any random point during the day or night. What if I projectile vomit during a meeting at which I am presenting, and it lands on my boss's new suit? Or while driving my car down the interstate (in this case I would say "Damn the cost, and it is getting professionally cleaned. I will tip like a high-roller"). What if I am one of those poor souls who can't keep anything down at all? Before I announce my bun in the oven people may start to accuse me of being bulimic. Also, I really, really truly do not want to put my head in a public toilet to blow chunks. If the morning sickness isn't relegated to the morning then I have no way of ensuring that when the puke starts bubbling up, that I will have home field advantage. Public toilets may be the most disgustingly necessary location I have ever had to visit. I have no desire to kneel on the floor of one and pay homage to a continually abused and poorly maintained shitter. I have seen what lands on those floors (see my previous post "Like Peeing in a Janky Gas Station" to check out my experience with THAT). Maybe I can get some of those handy barf bags from airplanes?  
5. Amazon Woman Syndrome - I am not quite as worried about this one because I have a solid and viable plan to combat it. However, it bears mentioning since I have heard entirely too many stories from ladies who fell victim to this very fuzzy syndrome. Proper grooming dictates that ladies' legs not resemble those of a grizzly bear. There are also rules and sanitary reasons for keeping one's nether-regions properly groomed via razor, waxing and the like. When a small infant resides in your uterus and is nearing the end of their lease term, sometimes it becomes logistically impossible to complete any grooming below your baby bump. The victims of Amazon Woman Syndrome simply accept the predicament and allow both their legs and their hoo-haas to become so overgrown that weed-whackers and hatchets will be required to retrieve the child during labor. Just the idea of that situation makes me cringe, so before the time comes where I can no longer groom myself, I will be locating a salon with waxing services. The pain of waxing can just be sort of a "prep" on a much smaller scale for the upcoming labor pains. 
6. Episiotomy and/or Rippage - As if pushing a human being out of your hoo-haa (with what I have heard is indescribable pain) isn't bad enough - there's also the possibility that your no-no-zone simply cannot stretch enough to accommodate your baby's giant head. Hoo-haa's aren't made of whatever the hell Stretch Armstrong was made of so sometimes this happens. The result is either forced rippage of your special parts by the child, OR in the case of several of my lady friends, the doctor does a preemptive strike against ripping by snipping two holes into one. That's right, the baby-exit then merges with your poo-poo-hole. Don't get too worked up, they stitch you make all nice and normal - but I hear it's a rather unpleasant healing process... Where do I sign up for a C-section?

Maybe I'll get lucky, and all the good I've done in my life will be taken into account by the Lord and He will keep me from experiencing the 6 nightmares of pregnancy that my wonderful momma-friends brought to my attention. I really do want kiddos someday so I hope and pray that I can breeze through a pregnancy without those 6 particular issues. I can live with cravings, crazy mood-swings, gaining a healthy amount of weight and even peeing every 10 minutes (provided I can make it to the toilet).