I have arrived. No no, no diarist nominations, I have received my first piece of telling me what an awful human being cloaked in chattiness and advice laden buck up little camper email from this journal. Hoop de hoo, call the local papers. Wench est arrive. Soon I'll hit levels of bizarre pseudo feedback like the lovely Kismet and be all popular n shit.

But hey, it's caused about 1.5 minutes of hysterical, hormone addled self-reflection, and about 10 minutes of disbelieving anger, and now a whole lot of hilarity. I started this journal largely as a place to just blurg. To just get out the vitriol and snark so that i could be a remotely tolerable member of society for those people who have to deal with me face to face. Otherwise, I would be incapable of holding it in, and would twig and scream at the well meaning checker at the grocery store who cheerfully tells me to have 'A good day with Jesus', and would begin debating foreign policy with the checker at home depot when I refuse to buy red white and blue flowers, and just generally walk around like a bastard combination of Tweak and Stan from South Park. And so, this journal. The folks who know me, be it from RL or from the mother of all snark filled boards, groove on the sarcastic bitchiness, and the honesty, and the shall we say less than rose colored glasses view of pregnancy. You want chipper pregnant women? Go read the boards at epregnancy or some of the other sites, with the insipid strings of letters of acronyms for 'dear husband' and stuff.

But for those of you readers- cause apparently, there's at least one- who have missed out on a few key things (like, which I started outlining in post one), here's a refresher:

1. I'm a sarcastic bitch.
2. I rant, vent, and swear. A lot.
3. As I have said in repeated entries, I love my child, my husband, and my wacky ass job.

But here's MY pregnancy reality. The truth is, this pregnancy has nearly, quite literally, killed me. I want a child. I do not want to die of kidney failure. I have been informed that if I do this again, I will quite probably pull a Shelby in Steel Magnolias (but without the diabetes, woo). Pregnancy. Sucks. Ass. At least in my case. And you are entitled, dear reader(s), to be Miss Shiny McWideyed about your pregnancy. Feel free to be dewey and glowy and chipper and perky. Me? I wear a significant amount of black, scream along to nine inch nails, and really REALLY don't like puking twice her day, and let me tell you, I totally don't like having 6 major incapacitating kidney infections in a row. I really don't like running an allergic reaction so bad I'm flirting with a hospitalization worthy anaphylaxis meltdown should I be exposed at a normally tolerable level to an allergen.

And I don't appreciate emails which begin, "I am just wondering why you are even having a child." But, I know, joys of having a net presence, put myself and my writing out there on the web, blah blah blah. To answer the question, though, in spades, I am having a child because my husband and I chose to. I am having a child because truly, I want one. And I want to be free to be honest about the challenges of pregnancy and childbirth. I am having a child because my husband and I feel it is important to help raise intelligent, thoughtful, questioning, smart, strong members of society- whether that's by having our own kid or mentoring neighbor kids. I am having a child because we think, as geneticists and evolutionary biologists, that it is encumbent upon us to pass our genes on to the next generation and propogate our traits wildly, muahahaha. We also think it would be pretty damn cool to rear a person who is just as jaundiced, snarky, sarcastic, fast, and in the world and of the world as we are. We want to raise a person who thinks, rather than buys the stereotypical, middle american line of bullshit of how life is supposed to be- whether it's the standard line of pregnancy is wonderful the life within you! or whatever line of crap is coming out of our politician's mouths.

You don't like my pregnancy reality? Go read some other journal, and don't bother writing me again, cause this is the sum total of energy I'm spending on you. For the rest of my readers, you know who you are, the ones who, I don't know, get facetiousness and sarcasm and grok the bitchiness, thank you all.