So since I'm already spiraling downward into the abyss of utterly lame mamahood (you know damn well I've already showed those sonogram pics to every sighted person in the greater orlando area and every unsuspecting facebook friend, instant messenger buddy, and blog reader that I've managed to accumulate), I think it's time for a confession.
I.... am.... a.... "Nestie".
Not to be confused with a "nasty", which i also happen to be occasionally (see: this past week when I realized that shaving my legs has become far too much effort and have more or less given up on it). No, a "Nestie" is the cloying nickname given to women who have joined the online community The Nest, a spinoff of their original wedding-centric website, The Knot. While I've managed to avoid The Knot and all its doves and diamonds trappings, somehow I've gotten sucked into the pastel wonderland that is The Nest's other offshoot, The Nest Baby.
A sweet idea in theory, I quickly learned that the NB is actually an underground cult of fetus obsessed broads who devote a staggering amount of their time to such incredibly important conversational topics as, "Window Treatments for Jillian Marie's Nursery-- What Do U Think? :-) " and "Mean People Suck (long vent!!)". Think I'm kidding? Here's an actual message board topic posted earlier today:
Subject Line: "Wal-Mart Stole my Baby Name!!!"
Body: "I was watching a commercial for Wal mart the other night. It was about a mom getting her little girl an iPod. The mom says something like, "Why do I choose Wal Mart? Because of Mackenzie Lynne..."
THAT'S MY BABY'S NAME! Well, it will be if it's a girl! I thought that was too funny! I've never heard the combination of names before, and I thought I was being all original!"
Seriously. These are the women with whom I hoped to find solidarity. Turns out the only thing I have in common with 97.3% of them is the fact that we're knocked up. Hooray for us. But until I pick up the glue gun and get to work glitzing up my 400 page Pregnancy Journal, or finally order that belly casting kit from PreggersParadise.com... well we simply won't have much to discuss. I guess it doesn't help that a good chunk of these chicks have at least ten years on me and have been shooting fertility drugs since before i graduated middle school, so this is a superhugeohmygodthankthelordhallelu! sort of event for them (which would explain the sparkly shrine erected around their pregnancy test) and should, therefore, be treated as such. But for me, excited as I am, lucky as I feel, I just can't muster up that kind of unbridled enthusiasm for crib bumpers and breast pumps.
But I say all this to show you just how insane it is that a few weeks casually browsing through people's nursery photo albums and soul crushingly dull blogs ("Ate a slice of chocolate cake today :0 !! And I've been soooooo good so far!! Oh well.")... and now I think it's starting to suck me in. Not only do I keep a blog there-- actually, it's this blog with a few minor omissions and additions. c'mon i'm a lazy shit, remember?-- but now I actively post and respond on that damn Second Trimester message board that they've got. Next thing you know, I'll be uploading pictures of Christian and I wearing matching santa hats with his hand on my belly and referring to the due date as the Blessed Event!! (two exclamation points). Grody.
However... lucky lucky lucky for me, I have managed to draw a few of the saner women out of the woodwork with my snarky commentary and liberal usage of profanity. So now, when I want someone to complain to about how wretched this heartburn is and how I'm this close to peeing my pants every time I sneeze, they'll be there with a witty reply and a refreshing lack of emoticons and exclamation points. And maybe, if I'm lucky, some Tums. I guess some sisterhood isn't all that nauseating, afterall. Anyway, sure beats the hell out of trying to talk to my eighteen year old middle school crush about leaky nipples. Trust me.
With love and-- "Ew, did she say leaky nipples?!"
a.
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