If you're pregnant/trying to get pregnant you have been warned: You wont like this post.

Yeah, we get it - You're pregnant.

Big fucking deal.

Its not like you went to school for three years and had to take some excruciating multi-day certification. Its not like you saved a golden retriever puppy from getting run over by a bus load of Norwegian tourists. Its not like you cured macular degeneration. You spread your legs. Wow. Way to go. I am amazed you made it through sucha amen tally and physically demanding challenge that probably lasted all of 45 seconds.

And now I'm supposed to fawn all over you? I'm supposed to act like it's so incredibly difficult to get pregnant? And you're now this pristine chalice of life, something that deserves to be worshiped and adored? Really? This isn't something that EVERY animal in the animal kingdom can do? This is something special that ONLY YOU are able to handle?

Fell sick in the mornings? Do your feet hurt because they are swelling? Have to buy new clothes because you're twelve weeks along and have already put on nineteen pounds? Not my problem. Do your job like you're supposed to and shut the hell up.Stop telling me I shouldn't be willing to spend $200 on a pair of shoes just because you're pissed you can't even see your feet. Stop judging me because I'm a size zero and choose to accentuate that fact with nice, new clothes just because you can't even fit your arm into my sweater.

Oh, by the way, quit using your pregnancy as an excuse to stuff your gullet each and every chance you get. When you proudly stand up at the staff meeting and announce that "The baby wants" an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Su[er Fudge Chunk, a liter of Dr. Pepper and some curly fries TELL THE BABY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Now what exactly do I have to look forward to for the next two or three years? A constant stream of verbal diarrhea such us "little Bobby went to the toilet and pooped all by himself. But he forgot to wipe and then sat on the floor to pull his pants up! Oh, it was so precious, but there was poop everywhere!" or "I'm sorry I'm 40 minutes late. You see, I have a four year old in potty training and we had a little accident" or "I don't feel comfortable doing the speed limit, my baby is only two months old - You can just go around." FUCK YOU.

Two years after that and I'm stuck behind you in line at the concession stand. And guess what? You feel it's important to empower your child. It doesn't matter that there are nine people behind you, you want little Bobby to make is own choice when it comes to artificially flavored processed movie snacks.By god, your little Bobby is special. There is only one little Bobby and he is different from every other person on this earth. He is special and he will be raised knowing he is special. And now, little Bobby has been standing there with his little index finger in his little mouth staring at all of the choices for the last FULL minute. But you aren't the type of parent to acknowledge the fact that people are waiting on little Bobby to make up his little mind. You don't say something like "Hurry up and choose something or I will choose for you" or even better "Other people are waiting, make up your mind." No, not you. Instead you turn to the sea of humanity that has formed a marginally cohesive line behind you and look at them with an 'I'm sure you all understand' look. FUCK YOU.

You are the same people that can't just put their cell phone conversation on hold for 20 seconds while you order your venti no-whip-half-caff almond latte and spinach croissant. Instead you make eye contact with the waiter and raise that index finger. You are the same people that let your child scream in a nice restaurant instead of taking them outside because little Bobby just needs to get it out of his system. You are the people that don't care that I took the time out of my schedule, I am using my money, for a nice relaxing night out. You are the people that talk about kids and how they are such a miracle and how you can't understand how anyone wouldn't want to have children. You are the people that feel sorry for these people that choose not to procreate.

Yes, feel sorry for me. I am obviously too emotionally fractured because I don't share in the same fervent desire to add my particular goo to this world's collective semen cesspool...