Crazy Talk
This is a picture of me at 12 weeks, which was a whole month ago. Scroll down. You'll find me. Mixed right in with all the pretty things that you see when surrounded by talented, rich and famous people. Oh, you had trouble finding me? Figures.
Oh, none of this will make sense or have a cohesive order. I ramble non-stop now. You thought it was bad before. It's deep now. This is the pregnant verson of myself trying to write something so please forgive. I have been struggling with not making sense for weeks now and it will help explain my absence.
I was huge in that photo, but I'm way way way bigger now. Everyone thinks I'm 7 months along and I am a mere 4. I felt movement in there the other day. I thought I was supposed to get misty-eyed and hear that Lion King song Can You Feel The Love Tonight in the background, but instead I was a little grossed out. I felt guilty right after I felt gross and then I felt happy. I was just taken aback that a baby the size of a baked potato is in there getting her ghetto pilates on. It's a little weird.
So anyway, my friend Brad took this one of me sitting with his mama at his boyfriend's fashion show last month. You see, I do get out there and do things. I just don't really write about them much because I am vomiting and miserable. Well, actually I don't get out there and do much. This was the last exciting thing I did. Thanks for having me Christian!
The next exciting thing on the horizon for me is Election Day which is also the day I find out if it's, in fact, a little lady that has caused me to come down with the following: massively clogged pores, constipation, acne, vomiting of white foam and bile and sometimes an entire breakfast, nausea 24/7 even in my sleep, sciatica (Shorty warned me about this kind of shooting pain), general laziness about my appearance, bizarre hair growth in awful places, patches of dry skin (oh hell no), hard ass fingernails, fucked up (no other words) leg cramps, gas, hyperpigmentation about the face and chest, absolute terror and most curiously, pure bring-me-to-tears joy amidst all of the above.
Yes, he or she will be named Obama Beck in honor of Election Day actually. Hot right?
In three weeks, I'll be halfway there. I am both mystified and scared as hell. So wait? I'm going to be in brutal pain which will include ripping and pulling and cramping and then an afterbirth which, hello! Need I say more? Have you seen a photo of that shit? Dude. I'm scared. And then after all of that, I'm going to be a mom? Like, have my own little person to shape in the world. I will have my own little person that will know right from wrong and be kind to people because I said so and that there's no other way to live, really. This person will be the total living symbol of how bomb ass it is that my husband and I are feeling each other the way we do. I can't wrap my head around loving someone this much but I'm here.
I'm at this point! Who the hell?
In no time, there will be a Baby Beck all cuddly, batting her long ass eyelashes at me and then shortly thereafter I'll be removing her bedroom door when she's 16 and thinks she's grown enough to be having private conversations on the phone all hours of the night with that love interest up the street that ain't up to no good. Ugh! I am making myself so sick I absolutely just cannot wait! And yet, I'm sad that it will all go by so quickly.
You see! This is why I don't write much. I don't even know what I'm saying. I am so out of my mind tripping off this baby I can't even put the words together.
So yeah. Sorry about the no news. But no news is good news. If this site goes black, then that's bad news but let's stay positive. The doctor says I'm totally healthy and that everything is normal. Well it's probably not normal that I have zero interest in going to the big baby warehouse supply Costco kind of stores to register. So little interest that I plan on cutting and pasting portions of a friend's registry but I'm saying. There's still a part of me that while happy as hell is in total disbelief that this is even happening. Even with all the signs and symptoms. I had the nerve to buy skinny jeans today. You see, denial and yet glee. It's hard to explain.
My girlfriend tried to make me look at strollers today and I was like Please don't. She's like, "You're freaking out! You don't want to deal with this right now, do you? This shit is getting real, huh?" I insisted I was doing no such thing - freaking out! Hmph. Stroller shopping is like picking out a toilet to me. So many options. Everyone will see it. Do I have taste? Does anyone else have this toilet? Does this even work? What is this knob here? I mean, is it excessive to get the Philippe Starck toilet? Ugh. Babe, you pick. That's how I feel about strollers.
What was I saying? Yes.
This is probably the second time in my life where I have felt speechless, without words, no explanation. I am a very verbal and expressive person by nature but this? I don't know what to say. Ever. I just say what it is I feel at the moment. I just gagged and so I feel like shit but there is an underlying excitement with all of that. If Justin Beck talks to the baby (too close babe, it's like a megaphone for the peanut for real but that is sweet) I get a feeling that I have never felt before for my husband. Like, I should have these feelings of unconditional love and know this feeling intimately but this is next level shit. This is supersonic crazy love. Like how Brad must feel about Shiloh considering she is the first fruit of his crazy cheater love for old girl, a person I love to just look at regardless of the man-thievery that I do not stand behind. But I'm saying - it's that level crazy.
It's as though all my senses are crunk. I feel everything intensely. Sickness and greatness -- it's almost all the same. When I'm standing in the aisle at the grocery store trying to decide between Apple Jacks and Cocoa Krispies and I know full well my thighs are touching beneath my two-sizes too big house dress, I am in love with this baby and with my husband and I think these things all at once. It's an internal stream of thoughts that goes, "Thighs touching I got a lot of nerve up in here oh shit I'm going to have his baby I need to sit down ooh Justin loves pineapples I love him fuck Apple Jacks or Cocoa Krispies..." and it goes on and on like that.
Can I just say this? Randomly in the car yesterday, my husband goes, "Oh yeah babe. I designed our family crest a couple months ago. It's sick." He goes on to explain the design to me. It's genius! Justin Beck is the shit at designing stuff that feels iconic. Look no further than his reinterpretation of the Puerto Rican flag for Glassjaw. I said, "Really?" He said, "Yeah, I'm silkscreening all the baby's clothes with it. It's gonna be fucking hot." I don't know if he even knows that I burst into tears later that day thinking about how thoughtful and sweet this is. First of all, I had no idea he was making a family crest! And I certainly didn't know our baby would be hooked up with a full uniform. We're talking varsity jackets, karate pants, onesies, hoodies, knit caps. The baby will live in Timberland boots too, stuntin' like her daddy. I am so disgusting. I find all this entirely too charming and too precious. UGH!
Um.
See?
I've lost my mind.
Can't help it.
Love this baby. Love this life right now. Not so much the vomiting though. But I'm saying.