Throw the Whole Mama Away! When Your Child Prefers Daddy Over You.

Nine months of pregnancy. At least four of those were spent not being able to control my bladder, sleep on my back, wear pants that didn't sag in the crotch and smell anything too smelly, which was just about everything. The last two months were spent feeling as though some little man was testing out his new flame thrower in my chest and his brother was downstairs kicking the crap out of my pocketbook (vagina,) covered in extra maternity pant fabric. Lest us not forget the diet I was placed on in my last month thanks to gestational diabetes and the thirty plus hours of labor I endured, only to have my stomach cut open and leave me with the flapjack of a tummy that remains today. I reminisce on those nine months as I sit here and listen to my four year old, who is the product of that pregnancy, tell my husband, he does not want Mommy to put him to sleep. He does not want Mommy. He does not want the flapjack recipient.