I’ve always heard pregnant or previously pregnant women talk about the mood swings that they experienced during pregnancy and likened it to demon posession. This really didn’t seem so outlandish to me as I, having been raised by my mother (possibly the most hormonal and undermedicated person ON. THE. PLANET) have always been a bit of a high-strung broad, myself. I could totally understand overreacting about spilled milk. Or…whatever.

What I didn’t realize is that, HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE, pregnancy hormones are NOT A JOKE.

I have a gift of realizing, even in the midst of extreme overreaction, when I am being unreasonable. For this reason, as a pregnant woman, not only am I terrifying, but I am also, just…well…a mess.

1. I cry at commercials. Okay, to be honest, this isn’t completely new. Several years ago, there was a cell phone commercial starring a country singer going home to surprise her father on Christmas. This commercial made me lose my shit regularly. I blame this mostly on the fact that my dad lives halfway across the world and the only time I see him on/around Christmas is if someone dies. (NO joke.) But now, it isn’t just the sappy cell phone commercials starring country music icons and their fathers, (speaking of fathers, I just got a text from mine…weird) and it isn’t just the holiday Publix commercials with all the happy families celebrating together. Now, internet, I cry at pet food commercials. The sight of someone’s beloved dog or cat makes me a ball of emotions. And then I immediately have to find my cat and cuddle him until he bites my face off (roughly 3.75 seconds). Most of the time, the commercial crying happens when I am the only one home, so no one sees it and I can keep this under wraps for the time being (unless you read this. Then you know I am a super big nutcase.)

2. Things that have consistently made me a little irritated in the past, have become LIFE ALTERING, EMERGENT CRISES. The other day I had a full-on panic attack because My Beloved went to a friend’s house after work, smelled like he had had a beer (yes, I can tell it was one because my sense of smell is INSANE, along with the rest of me) and had been smoking and then wanting to go out and play pool later that night with said friend. Okay, I have an explanation for this, and it may not be logical if you have a penis or have never been pregnant, but, it is mine and I stand by it.

Ahem…

a) I miss cigarettes more than anything in the entire universe. I think that I crave cigarettes more than I crave McDoubles, which is just ridiculous, by the way. I have to, on a daily basis, convince myself that I cannot go to the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke myself into a nicotine coma. So, when HE smokes, I could murder him. And I don’t mean like, poisoning murder, I mean the painful kind of murder. Involving knives or Chinese torture.

b) I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on My Beloved. It is disgusting. And I love to drink when I am not knocked up. I just can’t take the odor now. And he rarely drinks, but when he does, he smells like ASS. And it makes me want to make him sleep outside.

c) I feel that, since I am home all day, ALONE, with no contact with any other human beings (because my friends all work), he should stay here once he gets here. I mean, the least he could do while I am chained to our house and growing his spawn is stay home and entertain me. Fuuuuuuck.

d) I feel that, if I can’t drink, smoke, or hang out with friends, neither can he. He knocked me up, he should suffer right alongside me.

3. I desperately miss normalcy and being social. My dilemma? I don’t want to see my non-pregnant friends because they get to do whatever they want and have lives outside of laundry and heartburn and I am jealous. And also because I feel disgusting, fat and really uncomfortable (to the point almost of depression) in my new body, I can’t stand to see them NOT out of breath after taking 13 steps to cross a sidewalk or running to the bathroom every other minute.

4. MB has a problem with laundry. This issue has existed for our entire relationship thus far and it always annoyed me. The fact is, he doesn’t mind DOING his laundry, but he immediately upon removing it from the dryer, places it into a basket where it will stay for the rest of its life. This basket will live in the closet in our spare bedroom with the 3 or 4 other baskets full of clean laundry in said closet until MB is looking for one, specific item of clothing. At this time, he will remove baskets from the closet and dump them on any surface available, search through the massive pile and then, usually, leave for work. The massive pile of clothing will remain untouched until I either put it away or have a complete meltdown wherein I threaten to throw all of his clothing into the trash. Up until now, this promise of disposing of clothing has been an empty one. Today, while searching for a piece of my own laundry and realizing that it could be in one of the 76 baskets in our spare bedroom, I had the biggest meltdown of all. One basket had already been dumped

onto the bed and three others peered at me from inside the closet. I dumped every, single one of them on the bed and fumed for 45 minutes until receiving a call from my other pregnant friend who assured me that I am not alone in my crazy and that it only gets worse. But reminded me, also, that this crazy is not my fault and that if I kill MB, there is a good possibility that I will deliver my baby in prison. And I am way too cute for prison.

A warning to My Beloved: If you would not like to move onto the porch, I suggest that your clothes find a home. Not a basket. Stat!