Say What? (or Holy Shit.)

A small sampling of things I’ve heard myself say or think while being pregnant and since having a child that have then made me ask:

Who am I?

and

Whose life is this?

These are not my boobs.

I don’t want coffee, but I want to want coffee. And that makes me mad.

This is my third milkshake today. And so what?

Would you please hold my leg up over my head later? But, like, not in a sexual way.

Five a.m. is a pretty okay time to wake up, actually, ya know?

I had three continuous hours of sleep. I feel great!

What about his butt crack?

These are clearly someone else’s boobs.

You’re squishing his penis!

Was there poop?

I’m not going to do it; I’m just saying that in theory, I understand why people are tempted to leave their babies at fire stations or whatever.

I have not been peed on today.

You have to make sure his wing wang is pointing down.

What did the poop look like?

I’m crying because it just occurred to me that I’m going to die someday. Which is unacceptable because I want to be with him forever. I will make myself the first person to never die.

I’ve been peed on four times today and barfed on twice—before noon.

I really enjoy the gender role representation in Doc McStuffins.

Is the poop supposed to look like that?

Dipsy is kind of an a-hole Teletubby. I am here for it.

This quinoa looks exactly like baby poop…I’m still eating it.

So, we agree that Dr. Seuss was kind of bat shit, right?

But I don’t want him to grow up to become a serial killer. Or a republican.

Hey! My son can weave baskets if he wants to, damn it. Or join the ballet or what the hell ever, okay?

I got the blue one. And now I’m afraid I’m a sexist, gender-stereotyping asshole.

You know the “sex talk” is not really supposed to be about how to be good at sex, right?…Though, maybe it should be.

We were seriously selfish dickheads before having kids.

I am running while pushing another human that I made with my body. Why don’t you get out of my way?