Men are fucking idiots.  Seriously.  A few examples.

My OBGYN is fucktwat.  I went to see my OBGYN this morning.  I’m 29 weeks.  I’ve gained a total of 23.5 lbs in 29 weeks!!! I felt kick ass, I’m eating and my body is responding.  

Dr. Fucktwat:  Wow, you’re really packing on the weight on your small frame.

Me:  [Cold stare.  I resist the urge to knee him hard in the balls.]

WTF does that mean???  Packing on the weight???  Is that supposed to be cute, funny??? Fucktard.  This is coming from the man that said earlier in this pregnancy, “Since you’re carrying twins I suppose you can gain 35 lbs total.. we’ll give you that much extra room.”   STFU.  I started this pregnancy at 107 lbs you manorexic.

Dude at the hippie cafe is a fucktwat.  After my doc appointment I went to the cafe next door.  Single young dad with a toddler is staring at me.  I order a chai latte b/c I’m about crash.  I couldn’t fall asleep until 3:30 am last night (miserably uncomfortable, everything hurts).  I ignore the burning stare on the back of my head.  I grab my chai and start heading towards the door. 

Matte Latte Fucktwat:  How’s the baby?

Me:  [Why must you talk to me??? WHY???  Speak in anti-social tone] Babies are doing great so far.  Thanks.

Matte Latte Fucktwat:  Twins!  Did you just see your fertility specialist upstairs.

Me:  [Expression on face -- WTF is wrong with you]  No.  My OBGYN and Peri are both in this building [insert snarky tone.]

Matte Latte Fucktwat:  So did you get pregnant through fertility treatments?

Me:  [Shocked] Uhm.. yeah

Barrista: [Sees that I'm uncomfortable and interrupts the conversation.  Bless this man.]  Be careful PerkyTitty, the latte is hot.

Me:  Thanks, see ya later.  [exit, more like RUN out the door]

Why the fuck are you trying to crawl up my vagina you nosy fucktwat???

Dude at the tire place is a fucktwat.  I’m waiting to pay for my tires.  I buisily look at my pda.  Dude needs to chat though…

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  When are you due?

Me:  In about 5 weeks.

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  Boy or Girl?

Me:  Twin girls.

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  Oh, I have 3 girls and one boy.  I really wish I had 2 boys.

Me:  [Just stares at the dude]

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  So did you have fertility treatment?

Me:  [This shit again????] Yes.

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  I want my wife to do that so she can give me a boy.

Me:  [Rolls eyes]

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  [Clearly oblivious to eye rolling]  So how much does that cost?

Me:  Probably around $35k a pop.

Boys are Better Fucktwat:  [Blank stare]

You stupid idiot — you would subject your wife to IVF to get a boy??? Is something mentally wrong with you???  Thankfully your poor wife won’t be subject to your bullshit b/c you just don’t have the scrillas for IVF.

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Now women have just been lovely.  Utterly lovely.  (Except the one jealous bitch at my office. )  My girlfriends have been kick ass. Random women have been kick ass.

I stopped at TJ’s to grab a snack before I headed to the office.  I was pissy from this mornings misadventures. 

Lady @ Checkout:  When are you due?

Me:  [Getting ready to attack] 5 weeks…

Lady @ Checkout:  You look fabulous woman!  Fabulous!!  Boy or girl?

Me:  Twin girls.

Lady @ Checkout:  You are such a brave woman.  Bravo to you.  How do you look so good?  My goodness.  Utterly fabulous.  [She grabs a co-worker near her and says...]  Look at this hot mamma!!  Can you believe she’s going to deliver in 5 weeks with twin girls??? 

WOW.  She didn’t call me a fat ass AND she didn’t ask me if I had fertility treatments.  She was just nice.  No snark.  No nosy ass questions.  Just love.

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I’m glad I’m having girls.  Seriously.

I obviously can’t categorize all of my people.  But this is a case of brown belly jealousy.  Don’t hate me for being preggo and adorables. 

The Setting:  Good eats at a friend’s house.  We’re gathered around a long table feasting on wonderful homemade goodness.

The Scene:  People are circling around me and pampering me b/c I’m the pregnant girl with the cute belly.  I’m getting special treatment and belly rubbing.  The other South Asian chick feels shafted, b/c she too is pregnant.  But no one knows she’s pregnant.  I’ll be frank, she just looked a-fuck-more-than-pleasantly-plump and not pregnant.  You couldn’t see a belly, especially in a baby doll top.  So you can’t blame the rest of the peeps.  So no one oohs and aahs over her belly and asks her if she’s feeling okay.

Nice Me:  I know this chick is pregnant b/c my friend had told me earlier.  My friend actually invited her in hopes I would have a new preggo bff.  I turned to the other chick and tried to engage her in conversation.  Pregnancy is the topic on hand.  I said to her, “so how far along are you?”

Inferior Girl Complex:  The other-not-so-cool-not-so-cute South Asian preggo chick says, “Ha ha ha.  For a second I didn’t know what you were referring to… I thought you were asking me how far along in residency I am.  I’m so used to people asking me about residency.  I’m 20 weeks pregnant.”

Snarky Me:  What a weirdo — clearly she knew exactly what I was asking her.   The topic at hand was pregnancy.  No one even knew she had gone to medical school.   She just was feeling inferior compared to me and wanted to make herself feel better by throwing in the fact that she’s a resident.  I don’t play those games b/c I really don’t care about that shit***.  I don’t throw out my list of accomplishments from my resume, it’s just not how I roll. 

Sorry, sweetheart.  Not all of us can still rock size zero’s at 25 weeks with twins.  Oh my bad, that was mean.  I didn’t have to say that to her.  And of course I never would.  I just smiled politely while she stared at me for a good part of the meal.   She continued to feel isolated.  Her behavior is not how you make friends.

***Uhm, hello.  I’m ghett-profesh.  I don’t discriminate based on education or socioeconomic status.  You spent time at the penitentiary, I’ll be friends with you.  You got 2 crack daddies — that’s cool with me.  That shit don’t matter b/c I’m not one of those brown chicks.  All that matters is just being authentic.  My peeps are diverse in all kinds of ways.  Leave the snarky shit at home.

“Don’t you have any white people for me to talk to?”

So I work for the gov’t and I do legal work.  I won’t go into any more deets about what I do.  Anyhow, I did my job right but someone wasn’t happy (one of the American public).  My research was right on.  Fuck, I was right on.

But she wanted a different answer and was pissed.  So she called the receptionist and said, “I don’t want to talk to Perkytitty.  Don’t you have any white people for me to talk to?”  B/c didn’t ya know, if I was white I would have helped her more.  Non-whites are lazy and stupid.  Yeah, that makes sense.

My boss is on my side completely b/c I’m a meticulous employee.  I wish this person had made the comment to me, b/c I would have giver her a piece of my fucking mind.

MPS is Henny Penny.  Some of you actually know me and know where MPS works.  There’s no threat of layoff.  But then again, anything can happen in this market.  My husband is the definition of risk averse, literally.  So he’s been wiggin’ out to say the least. 

Anyhow, he has an offer on the table from a prestigious mega uber safe place.  The kind of place where the sky will never fall.  So we have been discussing moving.  No one wants to move.  Nothing has been decided.  This is really  just discussion.

But damnit, I don’t feel like I can nest!!!

Anyhow, my mom talked to MPS last night while I chatted with the BFF.  My mom talked about how she wants to move in with us if we move.  There’s family nearby.  And MPS gladly said okay.  I don’t blame him, he’s a happy-go-lucky, very loving kind of guy.  He worries about my mom.  But I called her and I was more stern.  I wanted to know what the deal was.  My house growing up was a revolving door for all of the Bangladeshi population.  They came and they went.  It was full of drama (remember my post from my first blog about my dad’s funeral???) — serious drama.  I like not having these peeps in and out of my house.  I like the fact that no one knows me or has the opportunity to talk shit, b/c all of my family (minus mom and Little Bro) are kinda awful shit-talking manipulative bastards.  I won’t get into it right now.

So I brought this all up to my mom and she agreed. She told me the family sucks.  And I told her very honestly, “Mom I just don’t want people showing up and staying with us if this move happens and if you live with us.  B/c let’s be real mom, you’ll never say no to them.  I have no problem being the bad guy.”  Now mom’s not sure she wants to live with us, which is fine by me…. BUT…..

But now I feel like I’m being mean.  Ugh, this is complicated.  You’d have to know my family.

I’m quite aware that I feel unhappiness in my life.  I’m aware that the unhappiness is created by my own thoughts and emotions.  Being aware doesn’t make the unhappiness fade.  It’s a vivid and real monster.

This week has been wonderful.  My lovely friends came over on Sunday to decorate the Christmas tree.  My tree could be in a magazine.  I think it’s absolutely dazzling.   I puked 15-20 times.  Some days have been worse than others.  Today is the first day that I don’t feel any morning sickness or nausea.  My cutie brother has made me dinner every night, from scratch!

I should feel abundantly joyful, right?  Then why am I consumed by worry?  Why do I strongly believe with every fiber of my being that this pregnancy will ultimately fail?  Tomorrow is dooms day.  I go in for an ultrasound.  I expect to find death in my uterus.  I don’t create life, I destroy it.  The knowledge doesn’t ease the pain.

I was alone for the transfer in a maddening white room.  I was terrified.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to run.  I barely made it to the transfer — I was ready to bail this morning.

I drank a little over 3 liters of water and my bladder was barely full enough for the transfer even though I felt like exploding.  The bladder pushes against the uterus and this is important for some reason.  I just didn’t want to be there.  I fought back tears (not tears of hope waiting for a pregnancy, tears b/c I didn’t have the courage to get up and leave).  If my bladder wasn’t large enough, they would fill it up with a catheter.  I immediately said, “NO.”  I’ve been in too much physical pain already (and really, it hasn’t been worth it).  I silently hoped that my bladder would not fill up on it’s own and I would go home.

Two grade A/B embryos were transferred into my uterus.  Ass-hat showed me the pics of 2 embryos in my uterus on the ultrasound monitor.  I felt nothing for them.  He gave me a pic of the blastocycsts.  I threw it away.  Like I want that shit.  They’re just fucking cells.  And to be clear, I’m pro-choice.

I hope my period starts.  I’m done with this.  I need to start living my life.  I have to go in on 12/3 to do a blood test. Once the results come back negative, I will stop taking progesterone and my period will start.

I’m a strong woman.  Playing the waiting game for a negative test result sucks.  Afterwards, time to refocus on me, my spirit, my career, and my  general direction in life. I always want to be able to stand on my own 2 feet BECAUSE I will certainly NEVER need to depend on anyone to take care of me (emotionally, financially or otherwise).  FUCK KIDS.  This is my life.

For now, I can’t leave my bed/couch unless to pee.  Bored out of my mind…