Because There Are Some Things You Can Never Unread

So, I guess my new wave of energy has finally arrived.

I had intended to write this post about a week after my last blog, but you know, that first trimester is no joke.

That’s right. The first trimester is checked off. People are not joking when they say time flies (and I’m extremely blessed, thankful, and chock full o’ praise, but let’s not lie, it wasn’t necessarily ALL FUN).

(I mean, if you consider looking at your favorite meal and wondering why it suddenly became so unappetizing fun, then you would’ve been in for a treat).

It still did fly by, despite my memory being umm, fuzzy, these days. I always thought the “pregnancy brain” was just a myth, until I actually have succumbed to the VERY REAL CONDITION.

Seriously. About three weeks ago, I went to look at my pay stub on my email. We have a five-digit password that has been the same for me for FIVE YEARS. I couldn’t remember it. I knew it had certain numbers in it, but that was it. Tried every combination I could think of for longer than I’d like to admit before I finally just moved on.

Then, a little while later, I was making Brett some grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner (don’t tell me he doesn’t have it good), and EUREKA! I had it.

That is about how my memory is working these days. Feel free to call me Dory.

Before I dive in, here’s the update on Peanut and myself (because I know you all have been on pins and needles).

I am 13 and a half weeks. We went for an ultrasound almost two weeks ago, and baby was dancing a jig. While watching him or her, he or she actually held up his or her (I’ll be SO GLAD when I know the gender. Whew) hand and showed off all five fingers! It may have been faux surprise to entertain the first-time parents, but our sweet doctor said, “Whoa! We don’t normally see that so early!”

So, naturally our child is gifted.

(I have a Master’s degree in education. I know these things).

(Not that the powers-that-be recognize that my Master’s degree means anything these days).

(Moving right along).

We are still feeling just as thankful, blessed, and happy as the days go by. Thank you to all who have checked on me. This sounds bad, but because it’s still early, I told Brett that at school I forget I’m pregnant because I have twenty-two second graders entertaining me all day, but every day at least two or three remind me when they ask how I’m feeling. So thank you! It’s noticed.

Now…

I feel this should be prefaced. Lots of people skip the preface in a book, but listen people, this is all meant in good fun. This is not to be taken super seriously, I mean it’s a blog post about social media for cryin’ out loud.  Yes, there’s some truth here for me, but if you think the opposite of all of the below, I still like you. Well, I may love you, but not like you. I’m kidding. See, this is the vibe here.

sooooooo true i only have 32 friends already pregnant let alone ones who cannot afford it and keep making more

I know I’m “one of those.” I usually post on Facebook daily, and sometimes more than once (although I try not to post more than that).  I don’t apologize for it, because if people didn’t post on Facebook (or Twitter, or Instagram, or whatever-will-be-popular-tomorrow), why would you get on there to scroll? You wouldn’t, because there would be nothing. I know some people just would rather not, or may not have much to say, but those are not in my genes. So I enjoy people sharing their lives and thoughts, both light-hearted and serious.

But y’all, TMI should never be needed as a hashtag.

So I have made some guidelines for me regarding pregancy and social media.

I call it…

My Social Media Pregnancy Guidelines: (My creativity is used Monday-Friday, sorry):

1. No Complaint Zone (or Very Little)

Before I was expecting, I knew for about the past year that Brett and I would like start thinking of having a baby in the Summer of 2014 (again, thank you Lord). Like I’ve said before, I have so many (too many) friends that are trying to have a baby and it just hasn’t happened or spent so much money on adoption and/or specialized doctor visits. So thinking that could be us, I was a little hyper-aware of the amount of pregnancy posts I saw.

Now, the vast majority were wonderful and positive and I loved reading them. Truly!

And some would jokingly vent about how big they were or tired, and those are fine too. I know I’ll do that too. (I mean, look above at this post).

But call me out, y’all. If I am consistently complaining about how pregnant I am, how tired I am, how I just can’t take it anymore online, tell me nicely to simmer down. There are just too many who would love to be in those shoes (or by that point, slippers perhaps),

I’ll just save the complaints for my sweet husband and he’ll smile the whole time.

2. Excessive Pregnancy Talk

We’ve all had that friend. She becomes pregnant and of course she’s thrilled and happy and joyful and is sharing the happy news.

As she should be! It’s a miracle and totally get that because HI, I’M GLEEFULLY PREGNANT and you all know.

Then, it’s all she ever talks about for the next nine months.

9:32 a.m.: Time to take those prenatal vitamins! #gummyversion
11:45 a.m: Y’all, that morning sickness is no joke. Maybe I’ll take my vitamins later.3:23 p.m.: So thankful to be pregnant! What do you all recommend to curb the sickness? LOL.

You catch my drift. I’ve been real intentional about how much I post about it (and talk about it amongst friends). It’s not that I’m not thrilled, of course I am! I still post about it too, it’s a big (no pun intended) part of my life, I just don’t every day. I feel like I’m hyper-sensitive to how people who have experienced infertility or miscarriages may be feeling, and sometimes you just don’t want to read about pregnancy everyday.

(Same thing for in person, I enjoyed hearing my happy friends the past couple of years, but there is only so much conversation you can take about odd rashes when you are just trying to eat your lunch).

3. There’s a Thing Called Google

Here’s my next guideline I promise not to abuse… asking every question under-the-sun regarding pregnancy when we have this awesome invention called Google.

There’s also this really neat invention called the telephone. I’m thankful that I have my Mama who has fielded a lot of my questions so far, but I also know my doctor is just a phone call away.

I totally get asking other mamas’ opinions who may have just recently delivered a baby. I already have done that too.

In a private message (or in person).

Weird.

(Particularly with health ailments. I understand you being concerned and wanting others to give feedback, but do you really want that girl you know from high school telling you how she once had that too or should you just call your doctor? Or privately message your best friends with the opinions you value?)

Also comma I know there will be a couple (or maybe a little more) of times I ask questions. I see these two in my future, “Target’s Baby Aisle is making me want to go in the fetal position. How much of this junk do I actually need?” and “HELP. I want to pack my whole house into my hospital bag, but what do I really need?” If I go beyond that much more, y’all hold me accountable.

4. #TMI

Y’all.

Y’ALL.

I have seen too many pictures of general ailments that I can never unsee. BURNED IN MY RETINAS.

(This goes for people other than preggos too).

If it’s something you need to search on WebMD (Don’t do that, it’s always going to result in a rare form of a cancer), then I ask you to reconsider before posting for all to digest.

I don’t need to see a picture of you or your child’s weird bruise or rash.
I don’t need to see a picture of you or your child’s gushing wound.
I don’t need to read about you or your child’s lack of bowel movements. (It’s sad I have to type this).
I don’t really care to read about the color and consistency of your baby’s said bowel movement. (We all joke about a diaper blowout, but that’s really all I don’t need to know).

Here’s a good rule of thumb that I hope I and other people remember:

If someone was reading this while eating dinner, would it make them regurgitate?

If only everyone thought the same.

This concludes my guidelines. I’m sure Mom Conferences will be calling me any minute to come speak. If you’re reading this, you are my people. Call me out when I break these.

Just forgive me if Dory here has no idea what you’re talking about.

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