You know you’re doing Whole30 when…

  • You’re constantly thinking about food.
  • All you have to do is give your partner a look and a grunt (maaaaybe a wave of the hand) for them to get that fucking beer/ice cream/candy bar wrapper out of your sight.
  • All your girl scout cookies are shoved to the back of the pantry.
  • You practically live in the bulk-foods aisle. (Did you know that those pre-packaged nuts are a racket?! You can just bag them and weigh them yourself- they’re the same nuts! -for much cheaper y’all.) #samenuts
  • Your husband starts naming snack options for your kids and after each option, you start saying “compliant” or “not compliant” without even thinking.
  • You start thinking about how many ways you can make eggs. There’s scrambled, hard boiled, poached, fried, omelette, raw…such a world of possibilities!
  • You start carrying full meals around with you to social gatherings. You know. Just in case.
  • You try to cram an entire meal into your piehole (not compliant) before going out because you’re pretty sure there won’t be anything you can eat there…and then you still bring a meal with you just in case.
  • You make slow-mo videos of the blender whirling your latest tastebud sensation and then post them to Facebook (ahem).
  • You start mentally planning your next smoothie even before this one has finished whirling (has anyone included almond butter?! Totally doing that next.)
  • You start looking up W30 memes and laaaaaugh and laugh.
  • You start running out of compliant food midway through the week and have to run to the grocery store again, ugh.
  • You start continue sharing about bowel movements.
  • You start blogging about it. Like, all the time.

 

No News Means No Baby

I basically wrote this post in my head last night while laying wide awake in bed because I took a nap way too late in the day because we got home lateish from our first trip to Home Depot as HOMEOWNERS.

It was very exciting, but so physically taxing for this 40 week + 5 pregnant lady that I sweetly had to ask some employees if there was a place where I could sit a spell.  The dude jumped into action and was like, “You stay right there” and he went and got me a chair and had me sit right where I was in the middle of the flooring aisle.  He then asked if I was ok (I think he was asking if I was going to pass out or give birth or both), and I assured him that all I needed was to sit until my husband was done shopping.

He left and then came back with a bottle of water for me.  How freaking kind is that!  And not only that, but he came back several times to check on me, and other employees asked if I was ok as well.  Never have I encountered such nice, helpful folks.  Really renewed my faith in the goodness of this world into which I am about to bring a screaming, pooping lovebucket.

And that brings me to the entire point of this post:

Don’t ever ask a pregnant lady if she’s had the baby yet.

Ever.

Like, not even if you word it differently.  Or if she’s your best friend.  Or your best friend’s Home Depot coworker.

You wanna know why?

Because, I’d think it’s safe to say, most 40-ish-week pregnant ladies would love nothing more than to just have the thing already, get to meet their screaming pile of joy, and get to reclaiming their bodies a bit.  We’re exhausted.  We’re cranky.  We’re feeling heavy as hippos.  We’re fucking done-zo.

And it’s because of that, that pregnant ladies are usually ready to squeal that they’ve given birth by SHOUTING IT FROM THE FRICKIN ROOFTOPS.  You’d have to be absolutely deaf not to hear.  Trust me.  They’ll be inundating your Facebook feed with pictures, videos, and stool samples demanding that you agree that this baby and its poop is the cutest poopy baby who ever lived, ever.

You won’t have to ask.

And if there’s no news – THERE’S NO BABY.  Say it with me.

Either that, or for some reason momma hasn’t told you because she’s simply not ready to.  Maybe you’re not very close to her, and not all of her friends and family have gotten to see the baby yet.  Maybe there were medical complications that momma is still dealing with and doesn’t feel like sharing.

At any rate – if the momma wanted you (yes, you) to know that baby was born, YOU’D KNOW.

You won’t have to ask.

And honestly, do you really want to ask knowing that the answer is most likely a thinly veiled, “Fuck off, the baby ain’t here yet and I hate my body and my life and omg, will this mucous ever stop leaking out of me?!

No.  Of course not.  Because everyone would like to avoid talking about excess mucous.

And don’t say that you’re on pins and needles waiting for this baby as a means of justifying your need to ask.  You know who’s even more anxious about it than you are?  You know who wins this one?  You know who doesn’t give a fuck how you feel about the baby not being here yet?

You guessed it – the momma.

So please, don’t ask.  Be patient.  The momma can’t plan for this, and so neither can you.

Now get this baby out of me so I can start drunkenly Facebook feed-bombing about how my baby is cuter than your baby.