Showing posts with label zygote cheese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zygote cheese. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Birth ain't beautiful.

As I'm gearing up to birth a baby at the end of this summer, I'm giving extra attention to the many pictures on the Facebook announcing my friends' new babies!  It's exciting, except some ladies post a lot of naked gooey newborns and exhausted sweaty mom pictures with comments like "So beautiful!  The miracle of life!  Look at the beautiful momma!"  I even watched a live birth last week and the chatters exclaimed how beautiful the process was and how she looked like a Lotus Queen Earth Mother, or some hippie shit, I dunno.

No.

As a concept, making life is a positive, awe-inspiring, yes.  But I believe "beautiful" is far from the correct adjective.  Let me remind you of this process, ladies and gentlemen.

First, two humans engage in the most awkward, sweaty, animalistic and hilarious act (seriously, think about sex objectively and try not to laugh at the image), which results in the man shooting some viscous love liquid into a moist tunnel of skin folds, bacteria, and mucus.  Delightful.

The result shortly thereafter is Zygote Cheese.  Remember that?  The beginning of life that looks eerily like a mold spore?  Breath-taking.

Zygote Cheese.

Then the fetus goes through several stages of ugly before looking even remotely cuddly and baby-like.  The 8 week "ET jelly bean".  The 11 week "Big-headed Shrimp".  The 14 week "Lou Ferrigno Head on Nicole Richie Body".  Charming.

Hug me Mommy!  Love, Platopotamus Alien Baby.

Meanwhile, Mom's body is going through ungodly disgusting changes.  Any mucus-making orifice she owns has become a slip-and-slide - but not in a fun way, in a I think something foreign just slipped out of me way. Parts of the body become wider - the hips, the rib cage, the nose.  Nothing says "beautiful" like a 4 foot wide nose on a pizza face.  The boobs grow also.  Awesome, right?  Except so do the nipples.  The big sexy dark teacup nipples.  Stretchmarks everywhere.  Cellulite everywhere.  Veins everywhere.  Hair everywhere.  Yes, personal hygiene does become a challenge at some point (but to be fair, we put up with with you stinky men for our entire lives).  Heavenly.

Finally comes the big day.  Somehow a microscopic single sperm and an egg have developed into an 8 pound being floating in water inside of a woman's torso, peeing in it and drinking it too!  When the fetus has finished development, it shoots out hormones through the placenta into mom's body through some creepy mom-fetus language, and it says "Hey!  I'm ready to come out of your vagina now!"

Here I will admit, some women manage to not look atrocious during labor.  Hypnobabies helps some apparently.  An epidural helps a lot.  Most laborous ladies though, are struggling with the pain of their insides simultaneously imploding and exploding, and so they make some very not beautiful faces, gestures, and body movements.  Not to mention the grunts and groans suggesting they're pooping out a St. Bernard.

At some point, if it didn't happen days earlier, the mucus plug will make an appearance.  It's like a poorly mixed raspberry Jello shot.  This suggests the cervix is dilating.  What's a cervix?  It's a zip tie at the meeting place of the vagina and the uterus to keep all the baby mess in and all the Daddy mess out (zing!).

Even a heart-shaped mucus plug still had to fall from a vagina.

At the completion of dilation, the zip tie has expanded enough to fit a bagel through it, if you're into that sort of thing (or just a baby I guess).  The baby then begins its descent down through the very love tunnel that it and its siblings and its fallen comrades originally entered, lubricated by pee-water fluid, blood, and a white Cheez Whiz coating called vernix.

Somehow, the vagina pulls off the greatest magic trick known to mankind, and expels a baby.  Sometimes, due to the magician's miscalculations, it rips.  Yup, just tears right open.  Then some lady with some gloves and a mask and a spotlight gets all up in it with some needle and thread and says, "Do you want to keep the old model or should I give you the upgrade?"

So then you have this Cheez Whiz baby there looking like a wet old man in his birthday suit, still connected to you by a curly fry flesh hose and the lovely raw-beef-and-butthole organ known as the placenta.  That eventually makes its way out, and then all Mom is left with is her tiger-striped mud flap belly, and her exploding boobs.  HELLO picture opportunity!  Ravishing.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I admit I don't mind at all seeing those intimate pictures, but I'll be damned if this is not gross!


Sunday, January 1, 2012

Three feels like a HUGE NUMBER

I admit I cried when I found out Violet was a girl.  At the time I had moved back in with my mom and it was anything but enjoyable, and so I thought if I had a girl then someday she would also find her mom anything but enjoyable.

She's turning out pretty cool though, thank jeebus!  I still really wanted a little boy though and became somewhat obsessed with the name Harvey.  I think it was after seeing The Dark Knight actually.  I think Joe and I like naming our children after movie and television characters.

So around Violet's first birthday I caught a major case of baby fever and though we never exactly tried, we (as in I) majorly stopped preventing, and a few months later I found myself knocked up again!  I reallyreallyreally was hoping for that little Harvey because as I've mentioned before, I'm no good at this girly stuff, and I thought it'd be fun being a mom to a boy.  So once again, I was slightly disappointed to get the hamburger shot and joked with Joe, "Well that just means we'll have to try again."

Mom.  You suck at girls.

As Leela's first birthday has been approaching, I've been thinking hard about whether or not I want to try for that boy.  I decided that while I'd love a boy, I don't think I want to try for a third specifically to have a boy, since I don't exactly have any control over it, and the odds are working against me anyway.  I also decided that I love babies and I am hooked on giving birth, but I'm not really interested in having three children in school activities and going on field trips and demanding clothes and shoes and food.  And I was ready to move on from the financial stress of me semi-staying-at-home and looking forward to moving on to either working full time or finishing school or something.


So imagine my surprise when I saw this.


Oopsy-baby Number 3!


Turns out that wasn't PMS that one day I was talking about being a psychogina.  I had a case of the zygotes.  That's a pre-embryonic/pre-fetal human-ish cell thing for all you non-pregnancy savvy readers (all none of you).  Also, it looks like mold to me, so I've been calling this thing Zygote Cheese in my head.

Zygote Cheese.  Why am I continually allowed to have babies?

So that's that.  I guess we tried for a boy whether I wanted to or not.  Before I was pregnant I always said if I ever got pregnant a third time, I wanted to wait until birth to find out the sex.  Now that this is happening though... holy fuck there's no way I can wait 37 more weeks to find out if it's a Harvey in there!  Although this time I don't think I'll be disappointed if it is a girl again.  I really like my girls and I do already have all the clothes for one.  And I've come to discover it's really fun naming girls (I already have a list going for this one!).

Assuming everything remains copacetic inside the ol ute (I like revealing my pregnancies early), it's only 14 more weeks until the next big reveal!
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