Wait? What’s that? You’re complaining about the birth control pill? Yeah, I know. It IS one of the best things to ever be invented. Or handed down by God, depending upon where you stand on all that religious stuff and science. I love the pill. You know why? Because I hate accidentally getting pregnant. Of course, I’ve never accidentally gotten pregnant. Yet. However, I’m sure if it happened, I would hate it. After all, we all know how I was a huge ray of sunshine that time when I got pregnant ON PURPOSE. I was like a giant, radioactive, brain-frying ray of effing sunshine, that’s what I was. For eight months. Yeah, that’s probably why Baby came early. To save humanity. This MIGHT make my child the messiah. But maybe not. Just saying. If you feel like making comparisons between me and the Virgin Mary, who am I to stop you? Although I guess she wasn’t so huge on the pill. Since they didn’t have it back then. God probably would’ve been pissed if he’d been cockblocked by the pill, huh? Yes, even I can’t believe I just typed that.

Anyway, I’m in love with the pill. It’s awesome, even when it makes me all hormoney and mad at stuff. Because it makes me not pregnant. However, there are ways we could be improving this thing, science. Because despite it’s awesomeness, there is still room for improvement here. You know how I know? Because it’s apparently really easy to forget to take the pill, first of all. And it’s easy to lose the pill even when you fully intend on taking it. Like by dropping it down the sink, for instance. And then you have this whole month where you’re worried about what the hell is going to happen if you do anything fun. Or, you know, even not fun. Really, this is not about fun. This is about PREVENTION, people. (Note: this is not about safe sex. That’s your deal. I can’t solve this problem for you. You have to help yourself. I recommend showing your kids HBO and letting them figure this out on their own. Or showing yourself HBO and figuring it out on your own. Hell, basic cable would probably help to. Especially if you’re looking to some random person on the internet for help with this. So, just a suggestion.)

So I’ve been thinking about how we could fix these problems–how we as women could always remember to take the pill (at about the same time everyday, according to those really friendly-looking gals on the commercials…and never drop the pill down the sink on accident–which they do not cover in the commercials. They probably should, though), and I came up with the best idea ever: combine the pill with Diet Coke. Hello, science? Why have we not done this? We’re already drinking this caffeinated beverage of glory, why can it not also help us not become pregnant on accident? And, this way, all those women wouldn’t forget to take it. Because you don’t forget to drink your Diet Coke. For many of us, this is the only way we make it through the day. Or, I guess, beer would work as well. Alcoholics also deserve not to get pregnant on accident. To each her own. And really, this would add to efficiency and free up a little time that we could all spend watching more tv or something of that nature. Or working I guess. But not if you drank the pill in your beer because that sounds like a bad plan. Or a great plan. Depends on your job.

So, pharmaceutical companies, if you’re reading this, and we all know you aren’t, please work on placing my hormone regulatory supplement into liquid, caffeinated, fizzy format. And, maybe, just maybe, you could convince my crappy insurance to cover this prescription. All I’m asking for is some birth control coverage. Yeah, I’m not clear why the insurance company wants me to have a baby so bad, but I guess they do…it’s possibly because they want me to wreak havoc and thus give them more business. Probably a decent marketing plan. I know I scared a bunch of people last time I was knocked up…

Daphne Colette came about a month early–don’t know why. No one ever told me. Apparently she’s just super punctual. She does not get that from her father. Here’s a fun fact: did you know that when your water breaks, it just keeps on flowing until the baby comes out? I suppose that’s so you can’t just pretend that you’re not in labor, even though that’s what you sincerely want to do at that point because it’s eleven o’clock at night and you would prefer to have a decent night’s sleep before the ordeal of delivery.

If you were wondering (and really, who wouldn’t want to know the gruesome details? That is why people have such a fascination with medical dramas, right?), about eight hours after the breakage of the water, Baby came out. And no, I did not do it the “natural” way (”drug-free”) because I don’t believe there is such a thing. “Natural” childbirth would involve being by yourself in the woods and having to fight off bears or lions at the same time as you’re pushing Baby out. That is the “natural” way: cavepeople style. Also, you probably die at the end from blood loss. Or being eaten by said bear or lion. So yeah, I’m freakin’ ecstatic that I went with the epidural, especially because while I only pushed for thirty minutes, we were stalling and waiting for the doctor for about half of that. I would’ve been pretty pissed if I could’ve felt those contractions while we were “waiting.” Especially since I was already irritated because A) in labor, duh, and B) it took three nurses and four different tries to get the IV in my arm and I had a bruises from that for about a month. Yeah, I was so happy about the epidural that I pushed the button to get more of it towards the end even though the nurse was all, “it won’t kick in for twenty minutes and you’ll be done by then…” Yeah, I’ll be done, but I’m sure there’ll still be pain. So there. And it’s not like I need to walk anywhere in twenty minutes. Where would I go? Work? The mall?

So anyway, now husband and I live with a very small person who does not yet speak English or sleep for more than twoish hours at a time. If I weren’t so sleep-deprived….uh, what was I saying? Yeah, I’m having trouble with coherency lately.

So if you know someone who has a baby, and you notice they’re tired, don’t be a stupid person and say “Gee, why?” in a jokey way. That just makes us want to cut you. And quit telling us to sleep when the baby sleeps. Do you know how sad and depressing and aggravating it is to try that and realize that half the time the baby is only going to sleep for ten minutes, and it’s impossible to know when that will happen? Seriously, the worst part of the day is usually getting out of bed. So let’s not do that fifteen times a day, k? OK.

Where do you want to eat? If I haven’t already specified an exact location and meal, I don’t care. Trust me–if I cared where we ate, you’d know by now. Just give me some freakin’ food already.

What letter does your baby’s name start with? I’m not telling you–I already denied you the name we’ve decided upon, why would I want to sit and listen while you try to guess what it is? I understand you’re curious, but it’s only a month or so you’ll have to wait. Deal. If you did guess the name, I’d probably feel compelled to change it, and we don’t need to go through that process again. I’m not sure I’d survive. Well, check that–I’m not sure my sanity would survive. Being a PhD student, it already hangs on a pretty skinny leash. And it likes to hide. It is as if my sanity were a labrador retriever puppy who is very good at being quiet and hiding sometimes. At other times, it is very good at running away from me–though I can see it across the yard…I just don’t have the energy to go over and get it. I sit and wait for it to come back when it gets hungry. Also, my sanity sometimes poops in your yard. But it has really cute puppy eyes so I just can’t get mad at it.

What if your baby is a boy instead of a girl? Um…then it will have a penis? And a boy name? It’s not going to ruin my life, if that’s what you’re asking. And my tastes in general tend to run gender-neutral, so other people won’t have to be appalled. Though if the kid wants to wear a dress, I’m not sure I care. Go for it. Gender expression is fun. And who’s going to tell a baby/toddler they’re dressed ‘wrong’? At least he won’t be naked. Though if he were, there would be no gender issues with which for people to get all up in arms.

It is like this list never ends.

You look like you’re ready to pop. So, you’re telling me I’m fat now? Also, let’s not mention “popping” because it just makes pregnant women realize how much they need to go to the bathroom. So, thanks for that.

When are you due? Not a bad question, per se. We just grow tired of answering this. Ditto with “Do you have a name picked out?” and “What is it?” These just sort of seem like personal questions. Why do you care? Any why should I tell you?

Do you really think pop-tarts (or any other food items) are good for the baby? Well, frankly, I don’t care. I’m sure pop-tarts won’t kill the baby, and I want pop-tarts. A lot of them. Thanks for insinuating that I’m trying to kill my offspring, though. I’ll definitely take that under consideration.

That baby is going to be born addicted to caffeine! Ha ha! Yeah…this is a joke? I drink caffeinated beverages–below the recommended limit, actually. Caffeine is not meth. It is not heroin. But thanks for telling me I’m a drug addict who is, once again, harming her unborn child deliberately. This may be a symptom of being pregnant “behind the Zion Curtain” (my new favorite phrase). In fact, when someone said this to Matt after he told them I had just drank a Diet Coke (in explanation of my rush for a bathroom), he became quite enraged. Though I wasn’t there, he reportedly did not act on this rage. Good job. Of course, this may also just be symptomatic of everyone in the world feeling like they can tell pregnant women what to do, because we are somehow less than individual, free-thinking, sentient beings.

And finally, just don’t say anything in a cutesy voice. This might just be me–I’ve always had a problem with cutesy voices. They make me want to punch people.

Oh, and we don’t actually want to hear about your own pregnancy. I know you might mean well, but it’s either going to be a horror story of your arduous labor, or you’re bragging about how you were better at pregnancy and labor because, for instance, the kid came out in five minutes or you didn’t get an epidural and are hence a “super-person” who deserves praise for giving birth ‘naturally.’ Though, I imagine to truly give birth naturally, you should be forced to do it in the woods without water and possibly all alone. Just a thought.

I think I have this problem because I view the middle name as a second chance name. If the kid hates the first name, they still have the middle name to go by. But they don’t really have that option if their mother’s name is the exact same. That just becomes creepy, especially when you’re introducing yourself to guys at a bar or something. Though, I suppose it would promote non-dating activities… But that wouldn’t help with the “trying not to scar her for life” thing. (Which I will inevitably do, but I was hoping to do it better. And have more fun with it.)

Anyway, this is a dilemma. At least to me. Matt says that as long as you don’t turn out to be a real loser parent it’s fine. (I can probably at least achieve mediocrity on that score.) This reasoning made me wonder, “what if the kid turns out to be a serial killer and I resent that I gave the kid my name?” Especially if the kid starts using my name for this life of crime. And I end up somehow mistakenly arrested. Or at least forever associated with it. The big evil people tend to have their full names drafted into the headlines, you know. Like John Wilkes Booth. Who is the only example I can come up with at the moment, which hopefully does not invalidate my point.

Ok, so the serial killer thing is unlikely–she may be emotionally or mentally-unbalanced, but who isn’t? A lot of people are telling me that she’s my kid, so I get to name her what I want. Which sort of makes me feel like naming her after myself is like bestowing my property rights of ownership upon her. And I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I don’t want to “disown” her (at least not yet), but ownership is sort of like slavery. Though, childhood is sort of like slavery, without all the brutality, but with some of the angst. And a lot of singing.

So, five people who read this blog, what should I do? Is it just lazy to give a kid your name as a middle name? Does it lack creativity? Or does it show that you think the kid won’t embarrass you, so it’s a stamp of pride? And, if that’s true, how come I wasn’t named after anyone? Hmmm, Mother?