Pregnant AF: The Miserable Joys of Pregnancy

By Angela Garofalo

CLARIFYING the raw and ugly truth about all the miserable joys that come with pregnancy. If you're really wondering what to expect when pregnant, Angela doesn't hold back as she shares the hideous reality of pregnancy that no one ever talks about. Pregnant AF touches upon light-hearted topics such as hemorrhoids, pregnancy gas, sex, and hormonal rages that could scare innocent children, along with the painful ritual of baby showers and the minor fact that you are becoming ginormous AF! Pregnant AF is comic relief for anyone who is pregnant and needs to take a break from their "the baby is the size of a papaya" book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Garofalo
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386553380

Book preview

Pregnant AFFull Page Image

Copyright © 2020 by Angela Garofalo

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Dedication

To Mia, Sophia, and Cecelia. Without you, I would have never realized how much I freaking hate being pregnant.

Contents

Subtle AF

Pregnant AF

Tired AF

Swollen AF

Annoying AF

Hormonal AF

Ginormous AF

Horny AF vs. Prude AF

Stabby AF

Hangry AF

Gassy AF

Gross AF

Boring AF

Painful AF

Uncomfortable AF

Learned AF

Retrospective AF

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Subtle AF

Everybody leave me alone. I’ve had a busy day being pregnant and need to do it again tomorrow.

---

All right, bitches, snap the elastic band on those panel pants, and let's get down to business. You should be aware of what is going to happen if you continue reading and decide not to light this shit on fire or use it to wipe your ass. (Honestly, I'm okay with either since you already paid for the book). As a courtesy, I think it's important to send off some warning flares in case you're easily offended.

If you love to spread your pregnancy sunshine to the masses by saying lines like pregnancy is such a blessing while rubbing your small yet firm, basketball-shaped belly and radiating that pregnancy glow like a knocked up Care Bear, then bitch, you got the wrong book! If you consider yourself the cheery, pregnant type of woman who spews sunshine out of your non-spreading asshole, then I would like to point out this is probably not your kind of read. If you’re on track to only gain fifteen pounds for your entire pregnancy, not only is this book not for you, but I'm about 98% sure you and I could never be friends. Sound harsh? Probably. Do I give a fuck? Not really. I'm guessing the title of this chapter is starting to make sense right about now. This book is for my pregnant heifers who don't quite fit into any of these categories. So if you’re not whimpering in the corner after that, then get comfortable, release the mom bra, and let's get talking.

Have you ever homed in and listened to the annoying, cliché bullshit pregnant women verbally vomit on anyone who will listen? It's not breaking news that a preggo craves attention and loves to talk about their pregnancy at nausea. If a group of women is chatting and the conversation isn't about babies, there is a slight shift in the universe. The non-pregnant in the group feel guilty talking about something other than her and her reproductive accolade. Out of guilt, the discussion will boomerang back to her and her pending bundle of joy. She gets to hold court and control all conversation topics. As someone pregnant three times, nothing is more painful than listening to pregnancy chatter. It's a topic I can relate to, have a history with, and know something about it, and I'm still bored to fucking tears.

I would sooner have a voluntary pap smear then be trapped by a pregnant girl who is uttering basic-bitch lines about how beautiful pregnancy is and how sad she is going to be when it's over. My first instinct is to fake diarrhea or spleen rupture. I’m sure my expression is the first to let them know I bored AF. As they ramble on, I find myself going to my happy place (FYI, my happy place is somewhere I'm allowed to punch people in the throat and there are plenty of cute puppies and cake). Sadly, I have been self-diagnosed with a female medical condition known as RBF (resting bitch face). It’s when my neutral expression can make me look like an angry serial killer. While my mouth is attempting to produce an interested and caring resemblance of awe how sweet, my facial expression is saying, Wow. That’s fucking fascinating, twat-waffle.

I'm sure you have met her. You know, the doe-eyed female with the blank look on her face while she bats her eyelashes and utters things like, Pregnancy is such a blessing. I feel so lucky. I'm aware this is terrible to admit aloud, but nothing makes me want to drop a punch to a pregnant woman’s throat more than hearing that line. Who is she notifying of this like this is breaking fucking news? Even a colossal asshole like myself can comprehend that the ability to produce a human is not something every woman gets to experience in this life. This concept is not lost on me. Pregnancy is the happiest reason for feeling like shit. So yes, if your body allows you to carry a pregnancy, it is a blessing. However, it doesn't mean every morning you wake up, shooting rainbows and glitter out of your ass because you're pregnant. I'm sure you’re starting to see that I am a sarcastic, typically-annoyed-with-people breed of asshole. I'm unable to respond without a wiseass remark to someone who utters those words like she just released the world's best-kept secret. Yeah, no period for nine months...winning. That’s as close as I can get to relating to what she is talking about.

My all-time favorite pregnancy line is, It doesn’t matter what the baby’s sex is, as long as the baby is healthy. Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. I assumed that was implied when we get pregnant that no one is looking to birth a mutant. I've yet to run into someone who has said, Well, I really want a boy, even if he's missing an arm and an eye. Does pregnancy make us that moronic that women feel the need to point out the obvious? Of course, you want a healthy kid! Pretty sure that assumption can be made by anyone with enough brainpower to tie a shoe, so why do we need to say it aloud? So strangers can think you're a good person and not some crazed asshole needing a daughter so bad you don't care if she's missing a couple of fingers and a toe? Side note, as long as she has an ear—maybe two—you can pierce, people will know it's a girl. So you’re set!

Am I really to believe that you don’t care at all what the sex of your child is? If this is your intention, then my friend, you are lying out your tits. I think deep down every woman, even if she won't admit it to herself, has hope for one sex or the other. Whether we are receiving telepathic pregnancy signs (aka maternal instinct), or we can only imagine being a mom to a particular sex, it's our truth. Very few will admit aloud to friends or family that they are disappointed when they find out the sex of their baby. Mostly because there is no full-proof way to voice your disappointment and not come off as a colossal douche-monger. True story. You would have to be a complete ass clown to admit such selfishness aloud. No one could possibly be that selfish as to prefer one sex to another. Right?

Hello, everyone. My name is Angela, and I'm a selfish ass clown to the third power.

Pregnant AF

I do not waddle; it's called pregnancy swag.

---

With my first pregnancy, I was 110% sure it was a boy because that was what I wanted. Bet that statement makes me sound like a colossal asshole, but it's true. At twenty-nine years old, with one full year of marriage under my belt, I decided it was time for us to start our family. Well, I told him I wanted to have a baby, and he said if I really needed to, then okay (romantic…I know). I told him not to worry; it takes most people six months to a year to get pregnant, so we had plenty of time before it happened to get used to the idea. On the very first attempt, I got pregnant— young and fertile…go me . Everything in my life timeline had gone the way I wanted it up to that point. Dated for two years before getting married—check. Married for a year before deciding to reproduce—check. I mean, I was following the marriage rulebook for all young and brainwashed females to a science. So if I wished for my firstborn to be a boy, it was going to be a boy. Presumptuous? Just a tad.

My best friend, Morgan—my ride or die from college—was also pregnant. Like all best bitches, you go through the same milestones in life together: the first keg stands, cheat on boyfriends with fresh college meat,