Five Weeks

Five weeks until C gets the fuck outta Dodge, and DO NOT COMMENT ON THIS POST if it is to inform this joo of any of the following fun facts:

(1) It only gets worse once they're out; or
(2) You should plan on being late.

This Joo does not care to learn either of those fun facts; and, unless you experienced DAILY debilitating migraines during your pregnancy; and your sister spent the last trimester spraying spray glue up your nose; AND your mother was addicted to the cancer; YOU DO NOT KNOW KNOW THIS JOO'S PAIN.

Other than that, this Joo is glowing.

When I'm Sixty-Four

days from my doo date.

At T-64 days and counting, Bad Joo is not handy mending a fuse, tending the garden, digging weeds, sleeping through the night, managing not to cry at the drop of a hat, or explode at the tadpole (whose visit ends to today). Bad Joo can no longer see her feet, although she should be able to, since they're so motherfucking big. BJ cannot go 24 hours without a migraine. BJ cannot slouch and breathe at the same time. BJ cannot be nice. In general, BJ cannot impress upon the Internettes enough how very, very poorly she is performing in this pregnancy.

But most importantly, Bad Joo cannot go ten seconds without getting the ABSOLUTE CRAP kicked out of her by C. And when this Joo says, "ABSOLUTE CRAP", she means, "Passersby stop her on the street and say with frightful looks of horror on their faces, 'FOR THE LOVE OF COD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, WOMAN, WHAT THE FUCE IS THAT ENORMOUS VIBRATING TUMOR PROTRUDING FROM YOUR RIBCAGE, AND WAS THAT YOUR LIVER THAT JUST SQUIRTED OUT OF YOUR SIDE?' before running away screaming."

When C is not busy pushing BJ's internal organs out of her pores, he enjoys hiccuping, doing the hustle, the Macarena, and acting like a silent, sweet baby anytime anyone touches her belly. Ah, what a joy this child will be. Even his father has taken to calling him "le petit con", which is French for, "SOMEBODY GET THIS FUCKER OUTTA HER AND GIVE ME BACK MY WIFE" or "the little asshole." This Joo forgets which.

An Open Letter to C

Dear C,

As you fart around in my womb and kick my innards all to pieces, take a moment to reflect upon your upcoming birth. Yes, it is true that the naysayers out there pretend that babies should be born 40 weeks after the date of a mother's last menstrual period, but the naysayers are haters. Fat, lazy, slow, racist, dirty, stinky haters. You're better than they are. And faster.

Be born at 37 weeks.

Show your friends up. Let the world know who's boss. Come out in advance. Set trends. I know you can do it.

Actually, I wouldn't complain if you were out a few days ahead of 37 weeks.

It's been really great having you grow inside me. I've enjoyed the nausea, fatigue, unstoppable migraines, and other joys of pregnancy more than you'll ever know. And that thing you do with both feet, my bladder, and a copy of the Miranda rights in Spanish? Magical. However, my most fervent desire for you is that you not blindly follow the pack.

Say, 36 weeks.

This being said, I want you to be first and foremost a fat, healthy newborn, so don't rush out. Don't take this letter to mean that I want you to sacrifice your own health for my selfish comfort. I love you, and I can't wait to meet you.

I'm not doing anything December 2, if that works for you. Otherwise, the week before is pretty open. Just let me know.

Love,

Bad Momma Joo

Mothersucker

It should come as no surprise to faithful Internettes out there that Bad Joo is a bad pregnant lady. So bad, in fact, that The Incision is even calling her a whiner. Bad Joo is therefore attempting to suck it up as she enters her third trimester, but given C's near constant ninjitsu Thundercat practice maneuvers and the ever-present migraines, Bad Joo is having a rough go of it. To soothe her, Bad Joo is rewriting all those "pregnancy week by week" (to be sung in a high pitched, my-little-pony-esque voice) articles to better fit her condition.

Week 26
Your baby's sweat glands are now functioning, which means that the little fuceur should get out and get a job. He can hear you and those around you, so take a few moments every day to curse him and the day you conceived him, whilst you badger your dirty foreigner to do your bidding. This is a good way to bond with baby. You may even be able to feel the baby kick the shit out of your bladder at the sudden noise of a pot hitting your partner's head! Your baby is now about 14 inches and weighs a around two pounds.

As your baby continues to grow you will find yourself with aches and pains from the pressure. These include back pain, pelvic pain, pain in your sides or ribs, pain in the ass, pain in the boobs, pain in the head, neck, shoulders, spleen, and prehensile tail. (Wait, you don't have one of those? Slackass. All good mothers grow prehensile tails to carry their young). The best thing to do when this happens is to change your position or move around for a little bit. Often, your movement is enough to cause baby to move and therefore release the pressure and relieve the pain. If that doesn't work, whine to your mom. Cry when she reassures you that she never experienced any such misery in any of her pregnancies.

Your fundal height (or distance from the swollen reaches of your formerly dainty lady parts to the upper stretches of your baby sack) has reached approximately 2 to 2 1/2 inches above your navel, which is now so disgusting, it burned the dirty foreigner's retinas last time he looked at it. In other words, you are a fat, miserable pig, and it's only going to get worse. Enjoy the miracle of life!

It is BJ's fault

Other than the fact that C has a penis (confirmed via ultrasound yesterday), everything is BJ's fault.

BJ did take off for la la france-in-your-pants for an extended stay, leaving GJ and co. without much to do.

BJ did also fail to remember to bring her camera back from Surrenderland, thereby finding herself without any photos to post on this here blog,

which would've been okay, except that BJ also somehow entrusted the ultrasound photo disc to THE DIRTY FOREIGNER, who may or may not have burned some counterfeit war game on it, and there are therefore no photos of the penis-ridden fetus hereon.

So, Bad Joo has jack shit. And she can't tile. Nor can she sew. Not even w/ curse words and twenty hours of pipsqueakless house. Good Joo, you are the epitome of woman. Hear you motherfecking roar. Post some more photos of that adorable fambly of yours.

What A Wicked Game C Plays

to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do. To let me dream of you ohhhhiiiiiiiiiiiii don't wanna fall in love.

Bad Joo, who has heretofore sworn to buy used everything this baby should require (apart from breast milk), is now lusting over a crib. Even Blogger knows it's wrong, for Blogger is not allowing BJ to import a photo of the sexy mofo of a crib. Interested Internettes may view it here: http://www.pacificrimwoodworking.com/crib.aspx . It's the radius crib. le sigh.

Bad Joo knows that C will spend exactly five minutes of his or her life in the crib, and that said crib will really serve as a glorified cat bed from which BJ will constantly be evicting dirty pussies, but this does not change BJ's desire. BJ knows that the crib is a monumental waste of le cash, but this does not change BJ's desire.

BJ wants the Radius. BJ loves the Radius and everything about it. BJ especially loves its Jap inspired cap. BJ wants to sleep in the Radius and do dirty things to it. BJ would not even mind birthing a penis, if it meant she could have the Radius. again with le sigh.

Please, seasoned mothers out there, share your wisdom about why and how BJ should forget about le crib trop sexy. Or send cold, hard cash to:

Bad Joo
c/o The Dirty Foreigner
555 Midwestern Street
Midwest, MW 91919

Thank youse.

C Rebels

C is an unlicensed, renegade, bad baby. As first evidenced by C's first detailed ultrasound in which C refused to sit still for measuring, C is going to drive too fast, smoke crack, and avoid paying taxes when C grows up. C is one bad dood.

That's right. Dood. Although a little early, C got an unexpected ultrasound this week when he? refused to sit still so the OB could check the heartrate. In said ultrasound, the OB thought she saw a penis. Now, while this glimpse of an Eiffelwang is not 100% certain, it is sufficiently possible for this Joo to have head spinningly vomited all over her burgeoning belly, the OB, some passers-by on their way to a pregnant person convention, and the ultrasound machine.

Horror.

Putrefaction.

Bad Joo was expecting a girl. Bad Joo has no idea how she is going to take care of a penis. She barely knows what to do with the dirty foreigner's penis, and her job is not to keep that one clean.

This Joo should not be surprised, however. Good Joo had girls, and it therefore stands to reason that Bad Joo should have a boy. Still, Bad Joo intends to make the best of this by causing C to be a screaming Mary. To this end, BJ has decided to name C "Valentine Madonna Cher Sparkle Joo." Valentine Madonna Cher Sparkle Joo will be enrolled in voice lessons, ballet, and cub scouts before age 2. VMCSJ will learn to love it. And VMCSJ will wear all his cousins' clothing. Including B's leg warmers. And love it.

Any additional suggestions for ensuring the queeritude of this fetus are welcome.

15 weeks

Now taking applicants for surrogate mothers willing to carry C the rest of the way. Please send your CV and an ultrasound of your womb, being sure to point out any unusual amenities (such as a wet bar, jacuzzi, wall-to-wall carpeting, or in-womb wifi) to:

Bad Joo
Some Midwestern Town
101010

Thank you.

C

In honor of Michael Jackson's passing, Bad Joo has made a C. Easy as 1-2-3.

C is due January 7.