I was going to save my comments about Heather B. Armstrong's It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita, until I finished, but I just can't do it.
I had another OB appointment this morning. This one to go over blood, urine, and other sundry test results. I was nervous because, let's face it, I'm a first-time mother and I worry about everything. The baby might have eight heads, no toes, or maybe it'll be born with my "mother-in-law's" bad attitude. Or maybe I'll come down with toxoplasmosis, or gestational diabetes, or maybe I'll just turn into the Bride of Frankenstein and no one will want to be my friend anymore.
I started my morning reading through Armstrong's--webinatrix of Dooce.com's--book, and I was in a sickeningly good mood. Chuck even commented upon my cheeriness several times (between thanking God and other assorted deities). The good times rolled right on into the doctor's office, and as I was sitting, waiting to be poked and prodded and made to feel like a prize poodle, I was laughing out loud.
I have to tell you, the front desk sentinels (scary women, really) looked at me funny. Sternly even. I'm not sure if they were annoyed or so thoroughly surprised to hear someone bellowing laughter and nearly streaming fun-tears that their faces contorted automatically. Needless to say, I stopped reading long enough to compose myself, and then I told my nurse all about it when she was working up my info for the day.
Armstrong's book is pretty straightforward. She talks about what it was like being pregnant, having her first daughter, Leta, and it goes on to discuss her postpartum depression, subsequent commitment to a mental hospital, and recovery (the margarita, I assume).
If you've ever read Dooce.com, you already know that she's FUNNY. She's snarky, she's crass, she's ballsy, and she entertains and touches me to no end. Not everyone is as big a fan--see the "Hate" page on her site--but I'm right there rooting for her and her family.
Now this is the part of the post where I admit that I am far too lazy an ass to get up and walk the five feet it would take to retrieve the book from my dresser. It's been a long day, and I'm playing the preggers card! I have indigestion oddly like I would imagine jet fuel to be, my legs are sore from walking to the bathroom every six seconds, and I am pissy that none of my pre-preggers pants fit anymore and I'm stuck wearing capris in cool, damp weather. I know it gets progressively FAR worse, but whatever.
You don't get any witty passages today (they're coming), just the assurance that anything that brings me to laughterful tears has got to be pretty snarky and delicious. Now I'm scared to death of the upcoming postpartum portion of the book (another thing to worry about), but I'm feeling certain that Heather Armstrong will handle it with wit that I can thoroughly appreciate.