There's something wrong in the state of Denmark… and I think I may be it.

Tag: tears

I just don’t know man…

News headlines. That’s what Justin Bieber’s upcoming concerts are making in SA. I don’t care about Bieber. You like her? Fine. What left me feeling somewhat appalled is how American South Africans seem to have become.

Or rather, how American South African parents are letting their kids become. I’m not sure I want to live on a planet where girls can be photographed sitting in the road crying because they missed out on Bieber tickets.

Are there not bigger things to think about in this country today? Where does the sense of entitlement come from? Is it not a sense of entitlement that leads to tantrums on the street? Am I going to be the world’s worst mother, after all? Will my child be so much of a realist that he borders on pessimistic? Would I prefer that to these brats?

Courtesy a work colleague who may or may not want to be named here.

Courtesy Jared Carneson – comic genius.

In other news, I believe it’ll be a day or two and I won’t have a belly button anymore… it’s looking alien up in der…

*Quick addendum: Before someone states the obvious – I know many African women show emotion wherever they are during times of high grief and that wailing and rending and beating of chests is a very African thing to do. But, to my mind, high grief and Justin Bieber should not feature in the same sentence and certainly shouldn’t be held in the same esteem.


Aaaand the whore moans…

Er… yip. It’s happening. Week two of the third trimester and my hormones have kicked in… but properly.

It’s not as bad as they make out on TV and in movies. I’m not roaring from one side of the hormone fence to the other in a matter of seconds. But things that didn’t make me cry before will see me bawling like a baby and I get highly irritated VERY quickly (which is the scariest part).

A girl who sits near me at work is sick again. Sniffing and snotting and snorting and sneezing and coughing… and the girl who sits near her is following suit.

Now, I don’t hear any hands being put in front of mouths during all of this and the rhythmic sniffing makes me want to jump the divider that separate us, knock her to the floor, hold her by the throat and ram Extra-Heavy Flow Tampax up her nostrils.

Naturally, the work place is no place for physical violence (and it definitely is not in my nature to assault people) but it certainly isn’t a fucking hospital either and these freaking people need to make their way home while they’re all infectious and shit.

Understand this, when I brush my teeth and get to my tongue and the gag reflex kicks in, the chances that I’ll pee a little are huge! If I catch your cough, I will be sitting in a puddle of urine… ALL. DAY. LONG.

Please fuck off home.

I’m taking great strain in bottling all of this in. If you were to ask my colleague, she would be none-the-wiser. But it’s gonna blow, Capt’n. And I fear for the safety of those around when it does.

*Deep breath*

Aside from this, my thyroid levels are on the low side of normal. Which explains the heart palpitations, low/high blood pressure feelings and complete fatigue.

Tip: Don’t shoot for babies if you have Grave’s disease.

Aside from that, the boep is now present and accounted for – as you can tell from today’s blog photo. I cannot see my feet whilst standing up nor my vadge while lying down. I can no longer easily shave my legs or trim my toenails. This last 12 weeks is going to be hairy, scary funsies.

However, I find solace in the knowledge that we are on the right side of nearing the finish line with this pregnancy and if I have to go into it with hairy legs and an unsightly patch, so be it.

Chat soon. Leave comments. No judgement here.Image