Don’t Poke My Whoo-Whoo!

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I am currently sitting in the waiting room of my doctors office waiting for her to inspect my whoo-whoo to check how much more I’ve dilated, if any, and listen to her say, “don’t have sex.” Oh, don’t worry yourself about that minor deet, doc. That’s what got me into this mess. How about you let me not have to pee in a cup anymore, yea? I can’t see what I’m doing. I’m shooting blind over here, praying I don’t pee on my hand (so far, so good.)

I must warn you, I’m deathly nervous. I’ve never been more nervous at an appointment before in my life. Except maybe when I went to Planned Parenthood to confirm my pregnancy, SIX MONTHS AGO! I can go into labor any day now and be considered full term. I’m a complete wreck, fo’ real! But according to my research and people I’ve spoken to this is completely normal.

People say you are never ready for the baby but they don’t emphasize never enough. It’s more like NEVER, EVER, EVER ready (and that still does not adequately describe it.) On one hand, I want Baby Boy here more than anything; on the other hand, I just want him to stay right where he is. I can control the environment he’s currently in, I always know where he is, and, most importantly, I know he’s safe! I lose complete control of ALL of that the second he’s out. Not to mention the thought that runs through my head at the thought of giving birth to him, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?”

But really, what am I doing? What are any of us doing? Do we really know? STAY PUT BABY! Maybe if I tell doc not to mess with my whoo-whoo he’ll stay in there.

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