At about 12:30 last night Mr. Choice said to me “It sounds like instead of blogging you’re playing with your new Facebook profile.” He was right. Sorry LTTers. You’re welcome Zuckerberg. (and for the record, I like the changes. According to FB my very first convo, on 2/1/2005, was with my roommate at the time and was exactly this “…Adam Brody.. ughhh”) Okay onto Twilight:
Warning: If you don’t have kids, and are squeamish, you should know that this letter contains lots of over-sharing about pregnancy symptoms. Of course, if you’re squeamish you should probably think twice about getting pregnant, period. As much as I love having kids, I wish somebody would have told me about all the stuff pregnancy entails. And you might as well hear it from me, ‘cause your mama’s not going to tell you. She wants grandkids too much.
I’m not one of those girls who hates you. You know the ones—those TwiHards who want you to drop dead so they can have Edward to themselves. Because, obviously that’s gonna happen. Yeah, you have your stupid, whiny moments, Bella, but don’t we all? Stephenie sketched you brilliantly loosely so we can all identify with/ pretend to be you… and who doesn’t want to be eighteen and adored by the hottest boy on the planet? As much as I love you (and, let’s face it, Edward) Ms. Meyer was right: if she wants to write more after Breaking Dawn she has to move on to a different narrator because we can’t identify with you as much, so it’s not the same reading experience.
The beginning of Breaking Dawn is the ultimate imagine-yourself-in-Bella’s-shoes read. Getting to fill in the fade-to-sad blanks with all our favorite dream-honeymoon fantasies is a ridiculous amount of fun. But then you get pregnant. And it was a fun ride the first time I read it, before I’d had children. But after two children in the last two years I can’t help but roll my chuckle at the melodrama of it all. And I love the rest of your melodrama—souls, vampire law, trying to save your indestructible boyfriends and all—but the pregnancy stuff just makes me roll my eyes these days.
Your kid sucking your life away from within? Honey, virtually every woman who gestates a child feels like that for at least 8 weeks of the first trimester and 10 weeks of the last, and you did it for WAY less time than that. And try doing that first trimester while still breastfeeding your first kid. Not for wusses. So maybe your kid broke your spine. Psshh, whatever. Try having feet shoved in your ribs and a head whacking your cervix for four months. Especially fun when they get hiccups. I’ll give you credit though—you whined way less than I did while pregnant. Of course, you had Edward to do the whining for you.
Speaking of which, the day you figured out you were pregnant you suddenly see a baby bump. I get the accelerated growth thing, but there’s no way that’s your first physical change. By the time there’s a baby bump your boobs have been swollen for weeks. And there’s no way Edward’s vampire vision would have missed that fact. Of course, those unusually large bosooms would have hurt so much that even you—sex-starved martyr that you are—wouldn’t let him touch them. This is ultimate irony of pregnancy as far as daddies are concerned. Now there’s a reason for him to be whiney.
And you had a house full of super-powerful vampires and werewolves doting on you, valiantly trying to meet your every need. I just had a needy toddler, a house full of moving boxes to unpack, and a husband who works 60 hour weeks. Not feeling the sympathy, girl.
You missed out on so many of the joys of pregnancy, Bella. I’m going to fill you in on a few of them, and I’m sure you’ll get some great additional information from our delightful commenters.
Of course eating fried chicken made you puke. I couldn’t touch meat—let alone cook it—for months. Except sausage and shrimp. Because what pregnant women will and won’t eat is always logical.
- Forget eating making you puke, try gagging every time you brush your teeth for four months. Especially fun because when you puke you then need to brush your teeth again.
- Creeped out by those crazy dreams you keep having? At least you’re sleeping. Between the back aches, the weight on your middle mandating you sleep on your side even though you’ve always slept on your back, and straight-up insomnia, sleep’s a precious commodity. Even before that newborn keeps you up all night. Oh, wait, you missed that newborn sleep deprivation part too.
- Be thankful you were cooped up in that beautiful house being taken care of ridiculously well. Going out in public just means awkward stares, unsolicited advice, and having to find something presentable to wear that fits this week.
- Not holding down any food probably means you missed out on the fun of a itty-bitty smooshed bladder, constipation, diarrhea… Too graphic? As I’ve been saying, normal pregnancy ain’t pretty, dear.
- That whole emergency C-section via vampire teeth thing wasn’t pretty, but you didn’t go through a single contraction, let alone days of labor or hours of pushing. You get bonus points for delivering without an epidural, though.
- You totally skip breastfeeding, and nobody laid a “if-you-really-loved-your-child-you-would” guilt trip on you. No pumping, cracking, engorgement or living life in three hour chunks for you.
- Need we start in on the fact that without the healing powers of vampire venom post-partum breasts are never the same, you’ve got a pooch where your abs used to be, varicose veins, stretch marks, there’s no sex allowed for six weeks more or less, none of your shoes fit…
- And you had Alice to deal with all the clothes havoc. From needing new bras within weeks of getting pregnant to having NOTHING that fits for six months post-partum, but not wanting to buy anything because it (hopefully) will be too big soon, having children is a wardrobe catastrophe.
- And then when your baby is born she sleeps, so you can too! Oh, wait, you couldn’t, could you? But you got fabulous vampire sex instead of unending exhaustion, so it doesn’t count.
Can I continue down the road for a second and tell you about the fun of toddlers who don’t have advanced comprehension of the universe or ability to communicate via mind-meld and therefore spend a couple hours out of every day throwing fits? That’s probably a different letter, isn’t it?
I hope my letter hasn’t made you too sad about all those human experiences you missed, Bella. I think you’ll probably deal with what I’ve told you just fine. I wouldn’t show it to Edward if I were you, though. It would make him unbearably angsty for days to think about all the amazing things you gave up to be with him.
All my best,
P.S. Uptight readers, stop freaking out on me. I love my children, mostly enjoy breastfeeding, and think childbirth is one of the most crazy-amazing things you will ever do. I just hate being pregnant.
Hilarious look at the human experiences Bella LUCKILY missed out on in her life! Can you think of any more? (Oh, and Bea sent this letter late July. I asked for an update, but haven’t heard back yet. I sure hope she had the baby. Cuz her pregnancy sounds AWFUL. They’re not all like that, right? Like, if & when I have kids I can expect to never crave meat, gain weight, feel aches, fart in public, complain, cry, regret letting Mr. Choice plant his seed in me? RIGHT?)
Oh.. and I couldn’t leave you without posting this AWESOME find from last night: