When Dan and I decided to get married, we were living 1 block away from each other in Tempe. Dan lived with Fraz and I lived alone. The switch was an obvious solution - so Fraz took over my apartment and I moved into the 2 bedroom house with Dan. At the time I was sure I was getting the better deal, as my apartment was owned by an old lady whose son, daughter in law, and grandchild lived right next door to my apartment. This family hated Alby the dog, didn't like my smoking inside, and the landlady was constantly over there.
Little did I know that Fraz was escaping the slum-lord cocksucker that is Tim Wright. If you take more than 2 shits a day in this house, there's a fine. We are fined for when we do or do not mow our lawn, the length of our shrubbery, and the latest $95 went to pay for hiring landscapers to climb on our roof with chainsaws to trim back the huge tree in our yard. This falls under "yard maintanance". Needless to say I am looking for new residence.
What was once a casual, "Maybe we should re-read that lead paint clause now that we're pregnant" has become a vehement, "They're lucky all I will do is rent else where when what I really want is to burn this mother down".
Dan, as always is a good sport. I have finally gotten him to agree to leave breaking the lease, getting a deposit together for a new place, and coordinating moving up to me - which at a surface level may not seem fair, but let me tell you... I would rather do all of this than have to deal with that crazy eye twitch he gets just from worrying about one of the aformentioned items.
At the end of this pregnancy I realize I am no more grouchy than ever, and what I miss most, today of all days, is my ability to self mutilate.The masochist in me is makig the same face Alby makes whenever we construct another piece of baby furniture in front him, as if to say, "You are going to forget all about me aren't you?"
I miss the time in my life when I could go 5 fucking seconds without someone giving me advice. Just because you managed to get your self pregnant before me, and you've popped out a kid or two, does not negate all that I have acheived as a person. I am not nullified into some ignorant twat whose biggest asset is what her body will expel sometime in the next 2 months, and my ability to do so naturally.
That being said, I think this is also an important time to thank a certain mommy friend who wakes up to answer her cell phone at 6 a.m. on a Saturday because I am having my first Braxton Hicks contractions and trust no one else to confirm that this is OK. When I say on a scale of 1 to 10 these cramps are a 4, she responds with no hesitation and a giggle, "No they're not, they're maybe a 2". Which at the time is annoying, but later in the day is humbling. God knows if I didn't have someone to keep me humble through this whole pregnancy I'd be walking around like I was the first woman in the universe to give birth.