Stupid Things I've Cried About While Being Pregnant

This is actually hard for me to admit, but being pregnant with baby #3 has left me a sobbing mess.

I'm not a cryer.
I hate crying.

I have a sick sense of pride that tears rarely leave my body.

My first two pregnancy's had no effect on my emotions. I felt normal as far as emotions went.

A lot of people say that being pregs with girls is different than being pregs with boys.

As I looked back over the last 37 weeks, I realized what a crying little wuss I've been.
I don't know if it's because my baby has a vagina or if I'm turning into one.

The extra embarrassing part is what I cry about. It's the stupidest stuff ever. I would never shed tears over this stuff in real life.

Here is some of the stupid stuff I've been blubbering about:

• My hair.

I got my hair done a month ago. It was too blonde, so I cried 4 days in a row until I got it fixed. I even cried in front of Husband and it was super embarrassing.

Look how yellow/orange it was.
I sobbed about this on the phone to my mom. I know it's just hair. Embarrassing.

• Jared and I didn't have sex before he went out of town.

Because now he thinks I'm fat and ugly and he doesn't love me anymore. I just know it. And what if he dies and that was my last chance to bang him?

Don't worry though. I called him, he turned his car around, and came home for a quickie. 

• A video of a precious moment between a mom and baby. 

It made me cry but that didn't stop me from watching it 20 times.

• The baby's room was a mess.

 Yeah, I whimpered about this too. Then I just organized it and was fine. 

• I threw up in public.

I'm no stranger to throwing up in public, I do it all the time when I'm knocked up.
But now that I'm in the 3rd trimester it suddenly makes me cry.
I don't cry until I get home, but still.

• I scratched my car.

I don't even care about my car. I don't need the newest or coolest car.

There is a reason I drive an older inexpensive car, and that reason is because I like not stressing out about it. But you better believe I cried about scratching the car I don't care about. Why? Cause I'm pregnant.

• I peed my pants for the 8937089286th time.

It's frustrating and I'm sick of doing extra laundry. Plus, my 5 year old harasses and bullies me about it.

• A guy hit on me at the grocery store.

That is so freaking disgusting to me. A guy is really interested in hooking up with a girl who is pregnant with another man's baby? Ew, Gross. He was even wearing an Ed Hardy-esque shirt with rhinestones. What kind of world am I bringing a baby into?

• My brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Jenny, threw me a little birthday party.

It was so cute and unexpected. It was so nice of them. They made my favorite french dip sandwiches and got me cupcakes.

They bought me flowers and a meat stick.

 AND a freaking Raptor skull because skulls make me happy.

It was so nice. Of course I cried.

• I can't see my pubes good enough to trim them.

What is my ob/gyn going to think? I want to be judged by the content of my character and not my pube situation.




This is just a small sampling of all the stupid stuff I've cried about. Hopefully I'm not the only pregnant girl that does this.
WWHHAAAHHH!

Boobs and Butts

Remember how huge boobs used to be all the rage?
Well don't worry my large-breasted friends, big boobs are still cool.

Do you know what's even more popular now though?
BUTTS. Where. your. poo. comes. out.

A ton of people are getting boob and butt jobs.

I was always pretty bitter having small breasts but now I have to deal with my insufficient butt too.  It's not right.


I took a bunch of African-American History/Sociology classes in college because that stuff is fascinating and also because I want to be black.
I was usually one of the only white students.

One lecture was about stereotypical differences in White people and Black people.

Someone said - There's the stereotype that Black girls have big booties and White chicks have no booty.

Then another dude says - That's no stereotype, that's true. Look at  Shaniqua's butt then look at Emily's...... See?!?!?!

I had to stand up and offer proof of my insufficient white booty.

Then I felt sad in my heart because even though parts of me are black on the inside, I knew I would never be black on the outside.


Everywhere I look in our society I see big tits and huge bums and it's not fair.

Girls are always posting skanky pictures of themselves all over social media.

It is probably offensive to many people who look at my profile and don't find soft-core porn selfies. (And to those of you who are offended by my lack of nudity, I apologize.)
I thank the good Lord everyday that social media and camera phones were not around during my high school and college days.  

My boobs were never something to brag about but breastfeeding my two kids has destroyed what little credibility I had.
My chest is literally inverted. Here, I will draw you a classy diagram:

Ummm.... yeah.


When girls I know get boob jobs I applaud them, then work up an unhealthy amount of jealousy.

I would love perky adult sized boobies.
I would take such good care of them. I would feed them, walk them, make sure they were socialized so they'd be nice around children and other people's boobs.
I would love to have a legitimate reason to wear a sports bra.
It would be cool to not be mistaken for an 11 year old boy. 

But every time I consider getting a Breastical Augmentation, I just can't do it.

Walking around with two bags of silicone in my body seems so biologically wrong.
Sleeping on my stomach would be difficult.
What if the surgery goes bad, my boobs come out looking like tube socks and I end up on Dr. Phil?
What if when I  have another baby and the baby doesn't like the taste of silicone?
Touching my elbows together would be borderline pornographic.
Skipping and jumping rope would be out of the question.



But even while I feel my butt and boobs are inferior, I find solace in the fact that every time I go online, "Hot, Young Singles" are looking to meet me for only $29.99/month.

Skunk Tail

I thought I would be a cool mom and dress up to go Trick-or-Treating.
I had splurged and bought skunk accessories mainly because there was a chic on the package dressed as a sexy skunk and I thought it was funny that someone thought dressing up as an animal that sprays stink out it's b-hole was sexy.

I put a big bowl of candy and a sign on the front porch for other Trick-or-Treaters because I'm not lame enough to not contribute to the cause. (Of course it was gone when we got home.)

Also, when we were home I gave extra candy to any teenagers because I always Trick-or-Treated as a teen and got super mad when people were annoyed at us and said we were too old.

You think teenagers don't like dressing up and getting free candy? Well, they do.

We got all dressed up and ready to go out.
I ran to the bathroom since I have given birth twice and now have to pee like a fire hose all the time.

I hurried and came out of the bathroom and noticed my pants felt wet. I looked behind me and there was a trail of water on the floor. I followed it back to the toilet.

I thought, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

I forgot about my skunk tail when I peed and it had marinated in the toilet while I went. AND the remnants were all over the floor.

I cleaned it up fast and tried to wash my tail in the sink. I was not about to waste $8 and not wear my skunk outfit.

I met Jared in front of the house. He asked why my tail was wet.
I told him it's not his problem and he needed to mind his own business..... after he took a picture.

We went all around the neighborhood with my wet tail sloshing behind me like a dead fish. It was uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable because of the wet tail but also uncomfortable because of my level of disgusting-ness.

Also, one of the reasons I wanted to go Trick-or-Treating was to peek in all my neighbors beautiful houses. They were super nice inside and now I hate them all even more. Especially Amy and Eliza.

P.S. Also, last week I let a marshmellow melt in my crotch at the doctor's office. Disgusting.

Bad Day

Yesterday was a bad day.

First of all I'm breaking out and my face looks like a topographical map.

I thought I would dress up a little, and by dress up a little, I mean get out of my pajamas. I pulled out some khakis only to find they wouldn't pull up past my post-pregnancy thighs..... looks like I'll keep wearing my maternity jeans for another few months.

 To make myself feel better I ate 3 bowls of Captain Crunch cereal..... with Crunch Berries.

I had to run some errands. Of course it took a lot longer than I planned - as everything takes longer with a feral 3 year old and a tiny baby.

Pretty soon Cryin' Ryan and I had eaten all the candy from the bottom of my purse, and Tyler was screaming for food.

We stopped at some little Mexican food place (no, unfortunately it was not my favorite restaurant ever, Taco Bell) and I lugged the kids and everything else in.

I bought some food and sat in a corner booth, because I know my kids are spirited freaking psychos, and I wanted to shield the other lunch customers from their shenanigans.

Right after we sit down, Ryan grabbed for the drink, knocked it over, and spilled red fruit punch ALL OVER my white shirt. I was pissed.

He looked up at me with terror in his eyes.

I felt so bad. I don't want my kid to look at me like I'm going to murder him.
I said "Dude. It's cool, it was just an accident" and he literally wiped his hand across his forehead and said "Whew! That was close."

We ate. I fed Tyler some baby food, but he wanted boobs. He starts screaming again. I hate breast-feeding in public so I was doing everything I could to calm him down.

 Then, I knew I didn't have a choice.

The problem was, I could not find my breast-feeding cover-up thing. With titty monkey shrieking and everyone trying not to stare at me, I pulled my boob out of my fruit punch-covered shirt and shoved it in his mouth.

While this is not the first time I have flashed people (I did go to college...) it was still weird and uncomfortable and creepy.
I gave the meanest stink-eye to everyone, DARING them to say something to me about it.
No one did.

Then I ate way too much Mexican, ensuring that I won't fit in normal pants for even longer.

Yeah. I've definitely had better days.

Mullet Baby #2

Tyler was born with a decent amount of hair (for a white baby....)

While giving birth, and yes I was drugged up and high, Jared said:
Emily! It looks like he has a lot of dark hair!

And I was all like:
I think that's just my vagina!

But it wasn't just my privates. Tyler had cute dark fuzzy hair.

Of course, after a month his hair started turning lighter and growing out in weird places.

He grew some hair on his ears like and old man. Great.

He also has long whispy strands of hair growing out randomly.... like and old man. Great again.

The best part of all was his dark, thick mullet. Accentuated by the lighter hair on top. It was very classy.

While mullets are full of class, the are also freakishly gross.
I can't have my little senior citizen looking all crazy in a mullet, so I cut it.
I just buzzed the whole thing and didn't even put the baby hair in my scrapbook because it was so gross.

Now Baby #2 can go to the community center and play bingo without all the other old people making fun.

 

 

 

 

Dirty Thirty

Last month, I turned 30.
That's right. The dirty thirty.

I spent that weekend with my hot husband, my energetic/psycho two year old, my newborn baby and my awesome parents who were in town from Utah.

My dad even flew in a couple of days early to be there on my actual birthday. When you are the
favorite child, you get perks like that.

We did a bunch of cool stuff that I am too lazy to write about, but trust me, it was cool.

I took some time to reflect on my 30 years of life and where I thought I would be at this point. I have accomplished all major goals I set for myself except one:


I still haven't come to terms with the fact that I was not born black.


I know in my heart there is an inner black girl aching to come out and be FABULOUS. That's why I still sing along in my car to Tupac and 50 Cent with my babies in the back seat.

That is also why I binge-watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta.

I wish someone asked me to prom like this :(

Other than that, there is nothing so seriously wrong with my life that a little Botox, Spanx, and a lot of praying can't fix.


My husband asked me what I wanted it to say on my cake.

I was breast feeding #2 at the time and jokingly told Jared to have the bakery write, "Happy Birthday Milk Tits".

 

Thanks Jared.

 

This picture will be awesome in our scrapbook and I can't wait to explain it to our children!

Boob Flashing

Pee-Baby and I flew into Utah last week.
My mom picked us up at the airport.

When we pulled into the driveway, one of my cool sisters, Rachel, came to the door to meet us.
I decided to reward her with a ceremonial Barlocker-family sister-flashing.

That's how we roll. We don't hug, we expose ourselves.

I lifted up my shirt to offend her with my pregnant stomach and awesome pregnancy boobs.
Of course I made an angry face and did a cute tap-dance.

Then my Dad walked by.
Um....... I wanted to kill myself.
I have never put my boobs away faster.
I don't think he saw anything, or at least he pretended not too. Thank goodness.

My dad is usually not amused by my shenanigans.

I think from now on I will avoid flashing my sisters on the driveway.

Pregnancy Boobs

Recently, my normally small "B" cup overfloweth.

I've always had small boobs and have grown to appreciate them over the years.
There are a lot of good things about having smaller boobs than most 12 year olds.

• Automatic member of the itty bitty titty committee
• Too small to sag
• No bouncing when going up/down stairs
• No need to buy sports bras
• When you hug people, your boobs don't try to assault them
• Men look at your face when they talk to you
• You can wear tight shirts without looking scandalous
• Its easier to fold your arms
• You don't have to lift them up to wash under them

But I confess, my inner 13 year old is stoked to have big boobs for once.


I feel like a perv because I stare at my cleavage more than Jared does.
Though I would never get a boob job, I plan on thoroughly enjoying my temporary knockers.

I'm even thinking of getting some classy pictures taken.

My Busy Crotch

I don't need anything else added to my criminal record, which is why I was glad I was not arrested at the park last week. I flashed a bunch of unsuspecting families my private parts.

This was the first time I didn't do it on purpose.

I thought I would be the "cool mom" who played on the jungle gym with her kid. I claimed up a ladder and heard a rip. Then I felt the warm sun on places it shouldn't shine.

Although the sun was pleasant I knew something was wrong.

Luckily I wear underwear on Tuesdays.

One of my favorite pairs of jeans had finally ripped. The knees were already destroyed so I guess the crotch was the next logical place.

I get really introspective and a little sad when I consider that I'm old enough to have clothes wear out on me. Especially when they wear out in the crotch. It's not like my crotch has been especially busy.


Amen.

Most Disgusting Person Award

It's official.

I am the most disgusting person ever.

• I have lived in my bed the last 2 weeks. 
• I am wearing the same shirt I've had on since Wednesday.
• I haven't done my hair, and only put on lip gloss because I'm addicted to it.
• I look like a mess.
• I gag when I drink water.
• I throw up 95% of everything I eat/drink (except a Mexican Pizza and  cup of nacho cheese from Taco Bell yesterday).
• I cried like a little wuss because I feel AWFUL.
• People at my church probably think I'm inactive.
• I am aggressively constipated.
• I have only left my house to go across the street to Jared's Grandma's house to beg her for smoothies...... which I promptly throw up.
• I have lost 7 pounds and my hands look like Skeletor's.

If you haven't already guessed:

I'M PREGNANT.

I might as well announce it since the people I told cannot keep their mouths shut (including me.)
I am about 8 weeks into it. It is due around the middle of March.


I know WAY too many people who are not able to get pregnant. I have had problems myself.

Believe me, I am aware how lucky and blessed I am to even be pregnant and my heart breaks for people who don't get the chance.

BUT, since this is my blog, I hereby reserve the right to complain about how much pregnancy sucks for me.

ALSO, out of respect for my buddies that have fertility problems I promise to limit my whining to every 2-3 posts.

I love, love, love kids and am STOKED to have another one, but I am even more excited to get this pregnancy thing over with. amen.




P.S. I guess I will console myself with the fact that at least I'm not disgusting enough to have a belly tail:

Bikini Slut

As practicing Mormons, we all believe the body is sacred and should be dressed modestly. Most Mormon girls wear one-piece bathing suits or conservative tankinis.
I, however, have always enjoyed a two-piecer.

My boobs are significantly smaller than my butt and bikinis allow me to purchase different sizes for the top and bottom.

Let's not forget about how I have an unusually long body. Every One-piece I have ever owned give me a chronic case of Camel Toe....... front and back.

I went swimming with Jared's family a couple of night ago.
All the girls were wearing amazingly cute one-pieces.

I felt like such a slut.
I was so uncomfortable. I didn't even want to sit down because I was scared I would get my slut everywhere.

I have been contemplating the ethics associated with being a mother of a 2 year old and prancing around in a bikini.

I can't decide if it is more socially acceptable to be chasing your kid around in a bikini or rocking the Camel Toe in a one-piece.
It's obviously one of life's more difficult questions.

 I need to go shopping.

amen.

Post Labor Pictures to Help Christie Feel Better

One of my favorite friends just had her first baby.
Christie will probably be an awesome mom. Not as awesome as me, but awesome nonetheless.

She posted her birth story on HER BLOG.
She claims she looks bad in these pictures:

Yeah Christie, you are soooooo nasty. 

I can't believe I am going to post these pictures. I swore I never would, but I like Christie a lot. So in an effort to make her feel better about her hospital pics I will sacrifice mine.

Take a deep breath.

I am clearly pissed off in this pic. 

 Look how nasty Cryin Ryan looks. Sick. Let's not even mention how inappropriate I look.

This picture was taken while I was hemorrhaging, and about to be taken off to emergency surgery on my chotch.
Christie's baby looks angelic in her pictures. Ryan looked like a science experiment. 

Let's see if it looks better photoshopped:

Nope.

Afterwards I felt like I got hit by a semi truck. I don't know why Jared kept taking pictures..... oh wait, yes I do. 

 I was surprised my feet didn't get stretchmarks.

I hope you feel better Christie because I don't.


P.S. I don't need everyone's pity comments telling me I look fine. I know how gross I was, and I accept it. Have a nice day.

Hoarding Pee

Have you ever heard the toilet philosophy:

If It's Yellow Let if Mellow. If It's Brown Flush It Down?

It's a water saving technique I instituted in my house about 4-5 years ago.

Basically, if you pee you leave it in the toilet to chill out. Then you pee in the same toilet a few more times before you actually flush. A little gross, I know.
If you happen to find something brown in your toilet, feel free to immediately flush it.

I'm not a super-environmentalist but I do a what I can to reduce my carbon footprint. Saving my pee up in the toilet is just one easy way I can help save the planet. Oh yeah, I also bring my own reusable bags to the grocery store and recycle.
I suddenly feel extra smug.... it comes naturally when you think you are better/greener than everyone else.

 It's hard to believe but there is a downside to urine hoarding.

One time, Jared's uncle showed up to see our newly remodeled bathroom without an invite. I hate when people just show up at my house unannounced.

Of course our pee soup was simmering in the pot.
I felt so vulnerable as we showed him around and noticed my homemade lemonade was floating in our new toilet.
Although my whiz was visible, it looked a lot classier since we put new travertine floors in.

So do me a favor, let me know before you come to my house so I can flush. K? Thanks.


Ultimately, whatever you do privately in your underpants is your own business. amen.

Victory Interrupted

My diet is about 75% candy. For reals.
Because of this I have irregular bowel movements.
I only drop the kids off at the pool every few days.

Most married couples I know have little reservations about pooping, farting and peeing in front of one another. Jared certainly thinks this is ok. My day is not complete until he dumps a load while I'm in the bathroom.

 That's great that people feel so comfortable in front of each other that they will drain all of their body's nastiness out while the other is watching.

I, however, prefer to keep a little mystery when it comes to my personal fluids. A woman should always keep a little mystery.
I have never gone #2 in front of my husband. I don't even like to do it when he's in the house.
We have had some big arguments about him walking in on my while I take a pee.

Yesterday Jare-Bear knew I was struggling with a ferocious bout of constipation. When I finally felt confident enough, I snuck into the bathroom.

20 seconds later I was rudely interrupted when I heard this playing in the hallway:

Jared started cheering me on.
"You can do it Emily!!!!"
"Don't give up"
"De-fense! De-fense! De-fense!"


It totally messed up my concentration.
I wanted to knock him out.
amen.

Private Waxing

I have been considering waxing my private places for a few years.
I hate hair and shave everything from the neck down anyway.
Everyone I know that has waxed their nether-regions raves about the benefits of having a smooth chotch.

• easy wiping
• no strays showing up when you are wearing your swimsuit
• you can run faster

I was at Sephora a few weeks ago looking for something cool to waste money on.

I saw this:

Perfect.

I brought it home and set it on my bathroom counter.
I stared at it for a solid ten minutes trying to work up the courage to battle my overgrown forest.

It took a lot of creative thinking on my part. I had to get into some pretty advanced yoga moves to make sure everything was taken care of.

I was expecting an unbelievable amount of pain, but was pleasantly surprised when the pain level was only a 9.8937 out of 10.  (10 being the worst.)

Would I do it again?

Yes, especially because I have 1/2 of the wax left and I wouldn't feel right about throwing it away.



P.S. I can totally run faster now.