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Guess who's back? Back again. Peg is back (na na na). Tell a friend. Guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's
back...I've created a monster. Tee hee! No, seriously. The baby was born like, in October. So anyways, what's up, y'all? This
is the Peggith, reporting to you, live, from like my beautiful new mother/bachlorette pad. It's been a long (and particularly
gay) pregnancy, with many surprises along the way. Hmm...like the whole getting fat thing? Totally not cool. Nobody even warned
me and junk. And then there were those weird food cravings. Like, oh my G, during my nine-year pregnancy, I had the strangest
cravings for goose crumplets. If you've never had a goose crumplet, then you've never lived. Tee hee...I
should sell my own brand of goose crumplets. That would be totally bitchin' - it'd be any marketer's dream.
"Mother Peg's Old Fashioned Goose Crumplets". Straight from the goose to you. Like, I amaze me. Snaps for Peg, and her amazing
goose crumplets.
What were we just talking about? Oh yeah...me. Like, I am totally distraught, y'all. Being a mother is
one of the hardest challenges I've ever faced (and I've had to sleep with Paulio six times - ew. Hell hath no fury
like an old dude's penis). When I first found out I was preggers, I was so excited (can we say cha-ching?). Child support
money is neato times ten. But then I realized, "Oh wait a minute...if I'm pregnant...that means I'm having a baby!" and then,
the full reality of it all really sunk in. Paul was all happy and whatever, cause I guess it proves to him (and the rest
of the world) that his manhood still works. But screw that! I didn't want a baby.
I decided if I wanted to stay baby-free, actions must be taken. So I started reading this book on how to get rid of babies
and it said if I pushed someone down the stairs, maybe my baby would like, kill itself. An interesting fact indeed. That night,
when Sir Porky got home from work (whatever he does), I ensured the pushing. Okay...big mistake. Paul ended up fracturing
a hip (...fucking old people). And me? Still baby-bearing! Dude, that baby didn't even fidget. I was like, totally
pissed off. Figuring maybe I did something wrong, I decided to give it another try. Before I knew it, Geoff was in the hospital
too (though I don't think he minded too much cause he got free morphine). *sigh* Isn't there any way a girl can get rid of
a baby, without killing or injuring the elderly? Evidently not. There was no hope for me. I was destined to get
fat.
Maternity shopping proved to be uber homo. I'd been looking forward to a good excuse for Paul to buy me new clothes and
being preggers seemed ideal. But when we went to the pregnant lady store, great mother of goose dumplings! All they had were
mu-mu's and elastic (ie. fat people) pants. Um, hello?! Where's all the Chanel shammies and Louis laces? Beautiful people
don't wear elastic pants. They just don't. I was getting frusterated with the whole thing, and I waited on Paul, while he
tried on a few mu-mu's (he said they made him feel pretty). But no clothes for Peggers.
The months went by like forever. I guess it was 50 headaches, three fractured hips, and 800 goose crumplets later when
one night, I woke up to the feeling of liquid goop on the sheets. "Eeeww...Paul, did you soil yourself?" Hey, it was a legit
question! Old people do that sometimes. He got all mad, and junk, yelling I should stop accusing him of every weird substance
I happened to step in or roll on. Then, it hit me. "Like...the baby is throwing up!" We rushed to the hospital so they could
pump the baby with medication and stuff but the nurse is all like, "Um...miss...I think you broke your water."
"You bitch!"
I retorted, and whopped that biddy something fierce.
"Darling...you didn't break anything. That means you're ready to have
the baby." Paul pointed out.
"Oh."
Oh my gosh...having that baby was SO disgusting. I swear, that thing must have inherited my plastic leg cause it felt
like the little bastard kept kicking me! The doctors performed something called a....vetinarian section...where they open
up my stomach and pull the baby out. I don't remember a thing, except waking up to Paul and some nurse exchanging phone numbers,
and the baby crying and junk. It was the proudest moment of my life.
Becoming a mother may be every woman's dream, but I'm facing new challenge thingies everyday. Now, in addition to changing
PAUL'S diapers everyday, I've gotta change that damn baby's too. Oh yeah! And we named her Beatrice Milly. Beatrice, because
it's a geezer name (like Paul). And Milly cause that's my lastname with a y (...or it's Paul's aunt. whatever). Beatrice is
so effing needy. Like, oh my G. All she ever does is cry...and whine...and crap herself. Yucky poo. I'm getting absolutely
NO sleep, cause Paul keeps waking me up everytime he goes in and out of the room to tend to Beatrice. How inconsiderate!
She also wants to eat all the time, and that's been a real problem. I'm not gettin' no saggy titties cause the brat wants
to nurse 24-7! I like my boobies firm and perky...if she wants to eat, have her eat carrots or goose or something. I tried
feeding her coffee once cause she kept falling asleep. Paulio got all p.o.ed. "That is SO bad for her, Heather, what were
you thinking?"
"Um, like, I drink coffee all the time, and I'm normal."
He stared at my blankly for a moment, and then
just walked away. Weirdo.
I need a drink, y'all. Catch you homies later.
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