Cry it out

I cried. It wasn’t a legitimate reason for tears like winning a gold medal or finding three coconut shells on your scratch ticket. I cried a messy red-faced pregnant wail because I did not feel like Beyonce.

Beyonce is my measuring stick for emotions, my power animal. If I’m having an awesome day, I feel just like she does–invincible, poised, put-a-ring-on-it-worthy. I bet she doesn’t worry that Jay-Z scoping out other ladies on the Big Pimping Yacht because, really, who’s better than Beyonce.

But today, my eight month pregnant body was less Beyonce and much more the former Destiny’s Child members whose names I’ve forgotten because they’re not Beyonce.

I’m feeling galactic and it’s hard to have any sliver of sex appeal when the only underwear you can fit doubles as a fitted sheet for a king-sized bed. And I know miracle of life yadda yadda, but that’s me as a mom, me as a host. What about me as a girl-you-so-fine, I just want to conversate.

I haven’t been asked to conversate in so long. The last time someone blew a low wolf whistle my way, I could see my feet if I looked down. No one asked me if I needed help out bringing groceries to my car or asked if I should be holding that box because it looks heavy.

When I walk, it takes a few steps before I turn into a heavy-breathing sweaty mess, like what Gilbert Grape’s mom would be if she could walk. And to alleviate the pain of just moving, I have a tight elastic maternity belt which is supposed to keep the pressure off my hips but instead sends my belly to suspend in mid-air, as if it’s a Ringling Bros. act that had potential until I stopped in at the Old Country Buffet and said, screw this, they’re setting up dinner.

I tried to explain this to Mike, but he’s a logical man who would hear something like his wife wailing and would answer, voice trailing, “You’re crying because…you…don’t…feel…like…Beyonce?” He once heard me answer a Jeopardy question about the Middle East with “Anwar Khadafi!!!” and had to call me out about my excited albeit totally wrong answer combining two leaders, so a plaintive pregnant cry about my state of unsexiness is just as puzzling.

What’s worse is that I’m the type of person who believes in a three-fold approach to situations like this: Cry Me a River, Build Me a Bridge & GET OVER IT.

If someone said, wahhh I’m pregnant and unsexy! I would say sistah girl, you have only a few more weeks of being a special category on sexy websites! Try thinking of yourself as a MILF! There’s no hope for me, though. I’m likely to become a MILBOIT: Mother I’d Like to Befriend Only, If That.

The only comforting thought, nay, fantasy, is that there might be someday in the future where inside a gilded mansion, past racks of furs and pearls, walls with platinum records framed in thick shadow boxes, there will be a beautiful woman with a belly full of child begging her husband to comfort her and Jay-Z will answer, “You’re sad because you don’t feel like Mona?”

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Comments

  1. Ha! Love you, Mona. Hang in there, the end is so freaking hard. I, too, wore odd and uncomfortable undergarments to suspend my giant belly and oof, its rough when wearing those things are better than the alternative.

    You’re almost there, though! Power through, power though! The rewards are very sweet.

  2. Aww…we’ve all felt like that, too. The last month of pregnancy is the hardest. You will get through this–& it’ll be worth it.

  3. Dude, that last month SUCKS! But the reward, it is SWEET! That little, bitty baby!

  4. I hear you lady. My strategy is to avoid mirrors and ignore the gigantic belly and sausage fingers of this last month. Oy.

  5. I think the main reason my husband is hesitant to have another child is because I become (according to him) a hormonal monster when I’m pregnant. I cry, I yell and I’m mean. I don’t know how that is different from any other day…
    I hope when Beyonce gets knocked up, she gains 65 pounds and acne. Then you’ll feel better!

  6. You are helping keep my wife sane and humorful two weeks post-date. You’re my new favorite blogger.

  7. Aw, sweetie. I’ve been where you’re at. I have also seen you recently and can testify as to your hotness.

    I know it’s hard to see, but before you know it, le bebe will be here and you will be back in your Beyonce groove. I know it.

  8. Beyonce is your power animal? THAT IS AMAZING!!! Mine was a duck until I read this now I want it to be Taylor Swift!!

  9. *hugs* Been there done that.

  10. Doll, I feel so un-sexy and I don’t have the excuse that the sudden and unending weight gain since August is due to a growing human in my belly. Although wouldn’t that be awesome, cause that’d mean I’d have another baby in a few months? But it would also suck because it would mean that a doctor would have to cut me open and remove my baby from me, leaving an even more flabby and disgusting belly behind. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, it’s getting a little too sad isn’t it? Screw it. “Sistah girl, you have only a few more weeks of being a special category on sexy websites!” A little while after the baby arrives, your weight will drop and you’ll fit regular clothes again, only your boobs will be huge! Call me when you get off work tomorrow. We can compare weight. Love you!

  11. Well, *I* think you’re sexy. Even at 36 weeks.

    Do you suppose we’ll get together again before this baby says hello to the world?? Are you still working FT? Let me know when you want me to come down and meet you for lunch.

    I got my hair chopped off like Julia Stiles:
    http://img.listal.com/image/233119/300-julia-stiles.jpg

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