Safety Dance

Every friday I give skype teleconferences telling young girls about the dangers of not using a condom, and the importance of being on birth control. I don't consider myself a hero, really, but I guess, in the sense that I make people think about the issues and help improve their quality of life, then yes, I guess I am a hero.

"Pregnant women are so beautiful!" That's what they say the second trimester. The third trimester they say "when is it coming the hell out?" The first trimester they say "you're glowing" which is correct because many of us are radioactive. That's how we get the adrenaline fueled power to lift cars off babies. The fourth trimester they say nothing at all.

Getting pregnant sucks. You get fat, gassy, stinky, tired and mean. There's nothing beautiful about it. Still it must be easier than being an actual mother.

I'll be giving this teleconference from my bed. I'm bed ridden right now, which is normal at my condition. My boyfriend left me a long time ago so my nurse has brought me a plate piled high with pancakes, pizza, and salad. She gives me a cup of milk as tall as a puppy. I used to be a size four! This is what you have to ingest into your body when you become like me. And that's why I'm here to talk to everyone.

Pregnancy is a condition that occurs when you intercourse another human being with his penis inside of you and he ejaculates without a condom and you're not on birth control and Al Green is on the tape deck and the curtains are carpet orange and the candles are almost burnt out and rose petals and twigs and moss rest on the foot of the bed and in your hair and down your throat and you cough but you're choking and he's too busy ejaculating so you heimlich yourself. Now that doesn't sound like it feels good at all, does it?

I have been pregnant for four years now and I don't appreciate it. Several of my friends have gotten pregnant after me and already had their babies, which really sucks, because none of them are friends of mine anymore. My stomach is the size of an anorexic baby shetlund pony, or I might as well say, it's the size of a four year old child.

A lot of mothers don't name their child until it's born. They look into his eyes and somehow they just know what his name is. But I felt like I needed to name him before he was born, because he already feels like he is alive inside of my uterus, or at least it did after he started talking. When I first heard his voice I knew in my heart that he was a Simon.

"Mom," Simon said.
"Yes, honey?"
"Are you doing your teleconference about how you hate being pregnant with me?"
"Oh sweetheart," I said, appalled. "I don't hate being pregnant with you. I just hate being pregnant period."
"No such thing as a pregnant period," he said.
"That's right, sweetie! Good job. Do you want a cookie? Mommy will eat a cookie and digest it for you!"

It's especially awkward in preschool. Some of the other mothers go to preschool with their children, but I'm clearly the most involved. No one can see when he raises his hand so I have to yell out 'Simon is raising his hand, he's got something to say! Everybody listen! Shut up! Listen! He's got lots of placenta muffling his voice so listen!' And it could potentially be uncomfortable. I can't even imagine what it will be like when he goes to college, at his first job, at his wedding, his wedding night...

So that's why I'm telling everyone: wear condoms, take birth control, wear diaphrams, get an IUD, do it all, all at once, do it.