Jabba Says No

My husband didn’t respond as sympathetically as I wanted him to last night when I moaned and groaned about my pain and discomfort so I said, “You know what? You could not handle this. You would be crying under the covers if you had to feel this kind of pain every day, every time you stood or sat or tried to walk or rolled over in bed. I’m gonna make you watch that video of the guys hooked up to stomach electrodes to simulate period cramps. Those whiny little jerks cried and fell apart over the kind of discomfort that happens every month to most women. That’s NOTHING compared to the feeling of having a fetus head wedged in your pelvis. NOTHING!”

Then he got me a glass of water and rubbed my back.

Meanwhile, I’ve spend a little bit of time today doing what the experts suggest and checking out Amazon Kindle Book categories I’m interested in throwing a new book into, just to see what people are searching for, what people are buying and rating, and where my story idea might fit in.

And guess what nonsense I am seeing too much of in the Bisexual Romance category!

Mpreg.

Freaking mpreg.

That would be Male Pregnancy, for those not in the know. The only reason I’m in the know is because of the Teen Wolf fan fiction I may have read since my favorite character left the show a while back.

Now… I have no problem with men raising babies. Not gay men, not straight men, not transgender men. Anyone with any kind of nurturing skills can raise a child and I support Dad Rights.

But men being pregnant? I don’t… know… about all that. With the exception of trans men, who have some experience with woman pain, that is. Perhaps it is sexist of me, perhaps I’m just extra sensitive because of my current condition, but maybe it has a lot more to do with the mpreg stories I have read having been written by people who have never been pregnant and think it’s all cute and sweet and rose-scented birthing rooms or whatever but I’m just… just no.

Just no to the stories of handsome pregnant men who grow an adorable little bump under their six-pack and then poop out an infant and go right back to being hot and sexually active but this time, with a little nugget asleep in the bassinet beside their bed. Awww!

No.

The only accuracy in these stories is that yes, it does feel like you’re pooping out a child. The rest is utter nonsense and I am personally offended by any pregnant anyone who maintains a six-pack over their baby bump.

But again, I’m a little overly sensitive about such things right now.

Fiction vs. reality, mpreg authors. 

Advertisements

All the Things Coming Out Soon

Inconvenient timing, this book launch coinciding with some fun pre-term contractions. Very distracting to have to think about both of my babies entering the world around the same time.

The good news is that the contractions have subsided and it looks like I’ll keep on bein’ pregnant for at least another few weeks (although I’d prefer 6 or 7 weeks to keep in line with my due date).

And with my new book coming out August 11, and that delivery being much more predictable and under my own control, slightly less stressful as well.

I’m just all about birthing good things into the world this month.

mjaxnc1imdy1owjjn2rlnzfmzwux

High-five, kids. 

 

Lay_Her_Ghosts_to_Rest large cover

 

Lay Her Ghosts to Rest, emerging from Amazon on August 11. Available for pre-order now for $2.99. It’s the least messy project I’ll be delivering in the next month or so.

I’m Too Busy Being a Wonder Woman to See Wonder Woman

As the sane world goes mad for the new Wonder Woman movie and Facebook posts from media sources as well as my friends laud the film, hoping and wishing that it’ll change the world, I’m here just… working and raising my kid and getting kicked in all sorts of unpleasant places by my own little wonder women-to-be.

I haven’t seen Wonder Woman. I haven’t had the time. Between moving and working and my primary baby sitters (my in-laws) having a wide and colorful variety of health issues, I haven’t been able to find one night or day to spend watching a movie that I desperately, achingly, paradigm-shiftingly want to see.

So when I do finally get to see it, it better not disappoint.

Meanwhile, as I deftly maneuver all the obstacles of daily living, nurture my son so hardcore that he actually said, “Mommy, me have big heart for you,” the other day, and try not to sprain an eyeball rolling them over whatever new physical discomfort is being used as an excuse to go to the ER instead of babysitting my child, I am HARDLY AT ALL feeling like the wonder woman that logically, I know I am.

Yeah, I looked it up on the internet which, these days, is tantamount to exhaustive scientific research, and there are lots of pregnant ladies getting kicked in the cervix so no, I’m not alone in my discomfort. But I’m willing to guess that a good chunk of those ladies don’t have quite the active job requirements I do and aren’t as miserable at having to sit them out as I am. I now run my after-school program from a folding chair. I have to stop myself from getting up to demonstrate. I have to enlist my students to remind me that chair-teaching now is better than bed rest later because at least for now, I’m present. I’m vocal. I’m helping. I’m working and earning that cashy cash I’ll need later when I can’t work at all.

But I’m super bummed to be sitting still so often.

I want to ride horses into battle in armor that shows off arms toned by a life of physical domination and general awesomeness. I want to be able to lift a sword without saying, “Ooof!” and grabbing at the stabby stab hurts of round ligament pain. I want to be a princess-turned-general too, you know!

Pregnancy sucks. Little girl, you get your parts built and come on out. Then we can ride horses into battle together!

6-74493-mm_mommeme33-1406587188

Stop This RV, I Want to Get Off

New plan: Finish this effing WIP and then set it aside before it drives me crrrrazy.

Accept that I will not be “winning” Camp this season but neither will I be packing a houseful the day before closing because I was too busy writing to prepare for the inevitable.

Write something else. For fun. Because this used to be fun before I got stuck in the nightmare of this particular story. Maybe something fluffy and romantic where my “prep” work includes staring at pictures of attractive celebrities and yet more attractive interior design to “get ideas” and “flesh out my characters”.

Nap more. Seriously. Because… I’m pregnant. And there is no work more strenuous that building a human being from scratch.

camping-while-pregnant

Yes.

Who decided that camping pregnant was a good idea? Oh, me? I did that? Whoops, my bad.

Losing the Groove

Today my son napped for 2 hours and 40 minutes. Guess how many words I got written in that amount of time! Just guess!!

0.

0 words.

I ate lunch. I did the dishes. I napped. And that, friends, is a productive day for me. Being pregnant is seriously harshing my vibe, yo. It’s crushing my spirit. And my bladder. And with a minimum caffeine intake, there’s no more magic elixir to keep me up nights (or days, apparently) writing my heart out.

I’m over here like, thank God I’m not puking my heart out because that’s the best I can expect these days.

Any other pregnant writers out there losing their groove?

123904454

Do You Even GLOW the Second Time Around?

I am Facebook friends with a woman about to give birth and I almost envy her her naiveté. She’ll lose that soon enough. Today she posted the most beautiful picture of herself in full belly bloom standing in the forest, gazing upward toward a hazy, half-obscured sun. Absolutely gorgeous. Oh honey, enjoy it now because hell awaits you.

I’ve been reading on various mommy websites about second children and how very different the experience is while watching my husband’s cousin half-way through her second pregnancy. Things I’ve noticed/read: No one gives a shit about your second pregnancy like they did your first. Life is much less magical and full of hope and possibility. Homegirl does not have the energy for photo shoots and has zero interest in being beautifully pregnant and glowing (not that she glowed the first time either. Or ever. She’s not exactly the model of positive pregnancy here, just the only woman I currently know on her way to kid #2).

So when I think, “Yeah, it might be nice to have another,” I also remind myself that this isn’t a do-over of the first. This isn’t me taking naps and being waited on by my husband and registering for all the things and cooing over every little tiny sock. Well, wait… no, I might still coo. Those things are adorable. I just think it’s really important to remember that I have a Tasmanian Devil of a toddler and as magical as my first pregnancy may have felt, a second one might be more of a pain in the ass.

meme

Those tiny socks, though!

 

Time to Have Another Baby

The gossip today is all about my husband’s cousin who’s about 3 months pregnant with her second child, the first of whom is 8 months older than my son. We don’t know this of course because my in-laws are all secret-tellers and gossip-mongers and we get this update secondhand (or rather fourthhand if you’re counting the number of hands held to mouths to shield the telling of said secrets).

Because I so badly want to be a good person, I reacted pleasantly because babies are wonderful news, especially for couples who desperately want them. But because people find comfort in patterns and because Old World old people are extremely competitive and because by nature most in-laws are demanding of grandbabies, by my baby math* I have until early November to get myself knocked up so I can give birth sometime around Augustish so that my second child is yet again 8 months younger than hers.

This way, my mother-in-law can have the youngest grandchild and my husband’s cousin can continue to speak to me like she invented motherhood.

overwhelmed-mom-holding-babies-0-280x280

*Baby math: That thing where you count 9 to 10 months forward from every time you have sex, protected or not, to see if you could handle a baby at that point in time.