I’m in the home stretch of this pregnancy. My last time being pregnant. Which would be a sad thing in some strange way, if this pregnancy had been like my first one. With my first pregnancy everything was rainbows & kittens. I documented each month with pictures and a pregnancy journal. I felt sick but it was like an exciting science experiment. I was fascinated by the process. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, I’m really good at being pregnant…” as everyone around me gave glowing reviews to my demeanor, appearance and over all well-being.

This time? Not so much.

Now one would think this pregnancy has all the makings of a really stellar one. I’m not nearly as sick, I haven’t gained as much weight and I was loaned a trunk full of fabulous maternity clothes so I don’t even have to worry about what to wear. How frikkin lucky is that?! Really the only thing I was expected to complain about this time was the weather and even the heat of the summer has been moderate in comparison to past years. So I say to myself - SNAP OUT OF IT!!! But honestly, how does one shake a serious case of bitch?

Granted I’m an ‘edgy’ person anyway. I hate to say bitch but it wouldn’t be the first time that word landed in the same sentence with me. I’m a pleasant bitch tho, friendly and charming for the most part but with a very open and honest way of speaking and let’s face it, honesty often equals bitchy in a world where people ask, “How ya doin’?” not because they want to know but because it’s words that they always throw out there. Your reply is always supposed to be, “Fine & dandy and you?” not that you’re actually asking either, everyone is just supposed to nod and smile and the world keeps on spinning.

God forbid you actually get into it, ‘How am I doing? Well let me tell you, not so great…” watch closely for eye-roll as the recipient on the other end of this conversation is about to go into the I’m-feigning-interest-pose.

So I don’t know if there’s a cure for pregnant and bitchy aside from birthing this damn, sweet, precious, frikkin baby. Honestly I don’t blame the baby. I don’t even really blame myself or my pregnancy hormones (I should but screw that) I blame the sucky incidents around me that threw me into this funkadelic grouch-fest.

What incidents you ask? What monumental horrible things must have occurred to induce such a stream of crabbiness? Nothing big. Everything little. It’s pathetic and I suspect if I started listing off all the annoying things that bugged me today alone, I would sound like the nit-pickiest person you’d ever encountered. I’m fairly sure I’m not always like this. I have some amount of faith in the fact that I will return to a normal fully functional non-pregnant being once my baby boy is in my arms and smiling up at me. I wish that weren’t the only cure for pregnant & pissy but I suspect it is. (Well… that and my three year old darling daughter telling me how beautiful I am, or that I’m the best mommy in the world… that does help a lot)