You're on Crack

That's all I think to myself lately when people comment on pregnancy or childbirth.

"I love being pregnant."
This one is obvious. You're on crack.

"I wouldn't want to know the gender. I'd want it to be a surprise."
A human being covered in goo squeezing its way out from between your legs isn't surprise enough for you? Yeah, well. Clearly, you're on crack.

"You should learn the gender so you can decorate." Have you ever met me before? Do you think I'm giving a girl Barbie stencils or a boy baseball-themed curtains? You're totally high on crack.

"You're probably planning a Natural Birth, aren't you?" It's true that I am many years clean and sober. It's also true that I'd love to not be. If you think I'm giving up the one chance to take some serious pain killers when I'm in the most pain of my life...you're on crack.

"Nothing really changes that much when you're pregnant. It's when you have the kid." Okay, I see the difference between the two, but not sleeping well, having a list of 45 things I'm not supposed to eat, feeling like shit, being ridiculously tired all the time, not being allowed to lift heavy things, not being able to scoop the cat litter when they take a big stinky crap in wafting range of my office, feeling teary at hateful television ads, not fitting into my clothes, and generally being totally freaked out Really kind of do change my general day-to-day life. You're just afraid you won't have your special parental knowledge to lord over me anymore. And. . . You're on crack.

Today I heard the baby's heartbeat at the doctor. It's currently going 160. That's good, but you know what I thought...