& the freak-down: pregnancy rage

The Freak Down

47 Days

Sometimes I get a little scared. Not scared of parenthood or the baby or the sleepless nights. Not scared of diapers or my own mortality or responsibility.

No, I get scared of Karli. She gets mad—a lot.

KARLI SMASH!

I don’t blame her either. She’s got a head sitting somewhere inside her pelvis and pushing on her bladder. She’s got a lot of water swishing around inside her, a lot of trouble standing up, and various aches and pains. There’s plenty of reason to get a little irritated.

I just wish the world would quit giving her more reasons to be angry. Because she doesn’t unleash her rage on the world in a healthy, green-skinned way. I’m the one who gets to absorb it, like the way New Jersey gets to buffer the rest of the country from New York’s shit*.

*Or, as I’m learning, Oklahoma being everybody’s barrier from Texas.

As an example of the latest Hulk-out, we’ll take yesterday’s trip to Walmart*. Karli—as pregnant ladies are wont to do—had to pee. Enter Carole, Walmart bathroom cleaner. As was relayed to me (between growls and snarls), Carole decided to clean an air vent that hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while. That was above Karli’s head. While she was on the toilet. Sending dirt and general nastiness raining down.

*This is reason No. 348 why I’m looking forward to moving—we can go back to pretending Walmart doesn’t exist.

This is probably something that would have pissed off just about anyone. But with pregnant Bruce Banner Karli, she was ready to explode, and I got to hear her grumble about every single person in the store for the rest of the evening, long after we’d left and come back to our apartment. My job became deterring physical confrontation, which is pretty difficult in the cramped aisles and general hellishness that is Walmart. We escaped without massive incident and minimal collateral damage.

A part of me is looking forward to Squatch getting here in order to see the end of pregnancy rage. But then there’s a voice that comes echoing from the distance—the voice that knows about an equally deadly force waiting to be unleashed. It whispers, hauntingly, “Beware of Mom Rage!

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