everybody and their mama

is it just me or is everybody preggers? i have a handful of friends who are either on their way to popping one out or have just recently popped one out. when i walk down the street i am weaving in and out of big bellied mamas. and let's not forget to mention angelina/katie/gwynneth/gwen/brooke and all the other starlets growing their little seeds.

my biological clock has been ticking since i'm 16 years old. maybe it was a fake tick then-- sort of a longing to be wanted, needed and loved. maybe i just needed a puppy then. but now, oh man, my ovaries have spikes in their asses and cannot sit still.

more than anything i would love to be preggers. i want to walk around with my maternity jeans and my halter top and my big belly smothered with cocoa butter. i want to lie in the park in my bikini top and boxer shorts and feel the sun on my belly. i just want to march the belly all over town and have my own little parade.

but i am not pregnant. wait, am i? maybe i am. it seems that i might have forgotten something. a little unprotected roll in the hay maybe? because just the other day as i was looking in a store with a friend the girl behind the counter and i had a back and forth that went like this:

counter girl: wait, are you susie's sister?

me: no, who's susie?

counter girl: she owns the store. i totally thought you were her sister because she said she had a younger sister who was pregnant and i just thought it must be you.

me: huh. interesting. that's funny.

counter fucker: why funny?

me: because i'm not pregnant.

then counter motherfucker goes into a whole oh my god, i'm so sorry, shit, oh man, shit, i'm sorry blah blah blah.


and then i leave with my friend sucking in my stomach and cursing quietly.

there's something so backwards about this situation. i mean there are the obvious fuckedupednesses like don't god damn tell me i'm pregnant when it's not TOTALLY obvious. and if i say i'm not susie's fuckin' sister in the first place just go back to folding the new spring line and leave me alone to my fake shopping. and my lamaze.


but then there's the backwards-ness in the fact that i wish it were true.

i hafta tell you-- that shit really hurts. it is a real low blow. hard to recover from it. i know i should just blow it off but it's not easy. kind of crushing to the little soul.

anyway i've cheated left and right this week on dubs dubs. i'll get back to it. it's just been a hard week in every single way and i've given up a bit on everything. but no more. back to life. back to reali-tay.

i'm feeling some contractions so i'm going to leave it at that for now.

whole grains and chaz,
rach