pregnancy

Fifty Shades Buzzed (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 401-450)

Okay, gentle reader. I begin this recrap with a couple caveats. (For more recraps, click here)

First, I don’t know what caveat means.

Second, I’ve drunk two glasses of wine and am seriously considering a third because I am reading pages 401-450 of Fifty Shades Freak after all so the likelihood that this will be coherent is as likely as E.L. James writing an interesting book with non-butt pluggish main characters.

We begin with Ana curled up in Christian’s lap while he sends emails.

Just go with it. I feel it looks “artsy.”

Detective Clark wants to interview Ana about that fucker Hyde, Christian mutters through his clenched peen.

Detective Clark shows up. Ana blushes when she sits down on the hotel couch covered in her vaginal fluid. Clark tells Ana that Hyde said she sexually harassed him, and she told lies to get his job. He also said you were a stinky face and had cooties, Clark continues. Ana continually gives Christian charley horses throughout the interview to prevent him from beating Clark about the face with his testicles. After, Ana says Christian is very “sweary” and I’m very tired. More wine, garson!

Contrivance Ray is moved to a rehabilitation center in Seattle. Ana shows up to be weird and call him “Daddy” which he says he likes and…yeesh. While she leaves, she hears her name being called. It’s Dr. Greene, the roaming gynecologist. Ana’s missed four appointments and like Dr. Greene does with all patients, she’s tracking Ana down to say “Whas up, yo?” Ana’s scalp prickles so we know nothing good is coming. Dr. Greene just miraculously can do a pregnancy test even though I have to call 4 months in advance to schedule my regular check up, but I don’t have a Cadillac vagina. Ana’s preggers.

What? No. No. No. Fuck.  I’m imagining these are the thoughts of the fetus upon realizing the identity of its parents. Or it could Ana. E.L. James has purposely left it vague. Or she sucks as a writer.

Dr. Greene, of course, has time for an ultrasound. Why not? Does Ana want a vaginal facelift too?

“‘If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,’ she says briskly.

Underwear? I know, weird right? I always wear 10 layers of underwear during my gynecological visits. Don’t trust her Ana!

Ana’s worried about Christian’s reaction. “I’m fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian. . . “

Ana goes back to work. There are emails.

Christian collects her like Star Wars action figure later that night. She is wary. Christian demands to know why she is not as wet as normal. She also hasn’t eaten. “‘Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to the security details list of duties?'” Christian bores.

They visit Ray. Christian and Ray talk about baseball, fishing and ejaculation–men topics. Ana says she’ll see him tomorrow That’s provided Christian hasn’t locked you away . . . or worse. Wha? I mean, I’m drunk, but even in inebriation I can tell that’s fifty shades of fucked up. Oh my god, do you see what I did there? I don’t either.

Ana finally confesses to the pregnancy, and Christian acts like a Newt Gingrich would about his 10th mistress. He snarls, his brow furrows, he says “fuck”, he closes his eyes, he has an anger force field, his “eyes burn so many emotions.” Then he leaves.

He comes back drunk. He sniffs her hair. He calls the baby an invader. Ana’s scalp prickles and she uncovers that he’s been with Elena, Mrs. Robinson, when she sees a text from her.

Yup.

So he’s a dick and she’s a wet piece of toast for 12 or so pages. Then we get the 125th plot twist of stupid. Jack Frost has Mia. Ana’s scalp prickles with ridiculousness because even her scalp is like “The fuck?”

So the “prick-teasing” gold-digging whore” has to pay some ransom or Mia bites it. Let’s not remember that Hyde was remanded with no bail because boo.

Jack wants $5 million, vaginal ball. No one can know or he will kill Mia and yawn…no more wine. I can’t drink anymore. That is the serious tragedy here, people.

Ana has to evade her security team and I just don’t want to read anymore, but what a vag-tastic (™sweetmother) plot twist.

What do you think will happen next?

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

You know how you discuss your uterus at work?

Yeah, I didn’t think that happened. Unless you work in a gynecology office or in porn or for Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas (Aw snap! Clarence Thomas jokes are soooooo 1991. Better rinse off that Coke can).

But I talked about my uterus at work, or at least I answered questions about it. It seemed odd at the time…mainly because it is completely #$!%^*^!%$ odd.

Here’s what happened:

Another coworker is pregnant with her first child. Since I’m not a hoarder nor planning on having anymore children apart from the one, I am giving her a ton of my old baby items that my 19-month-old no longer uses. She is very grateful cuz that sh*t’s expensive and you use it for about 5 minutes. She is not the problem.

Before a work meeting began, I let her know that I had some bottles, a sterilizer and a feeding chair in my car.

Won’t you need those for your second child?  asks someone else very appropriately since my childbearing decisions clearly affect her and I was including her in the conversation by not addressing her in the slightest. Uh…no, I answer. This is a really good time to have a second child.

At this point, I am really enjoying the direction this conversation is headed…probably in the same way single people enjoy being asked when they will get married, childless married couples when they will have children and the elderly when they will die.

Oh, I’m just having the one, I breezily say and continue my conversation with my pregnant friend.

You can’t let your son be an only child, chimes in another coworker.

Um….I can’t do what now?

He’ll be lonely.

Yes, my daughter and son are best friends, says the other.

Have I suddenly become a character in an after-school special about peer pressure? Hey man, everyone’s having second babies. You don’t wanna be a loser, dawg.

That’s sweet. My brother used to kick me so hard, he’d knocked the wind out of me. I’m good with the one.

It’s really much easier with the second one. You don’t even notice it.

Really? I don’t really notice another human being completely and utterly dependent upon me for his or her survival? Alright then, let’s get with the babymaking.

There are many reasons why I’m only having one child. These are reasons that I’m not completely comfortable discussing with people I work with but barely know at all..especially at the start of a work meeting.

Since these questions will likely continue until I reach a certain age, I need to come up with a better response than “uhhhhhhhh.”

Here are my ideas for possible responses (please let me know your fav in the comments section):

1. I would LOVE to have another baby!!!! With your husband! And you videotaping it!

2. Your question just gave me menopause.

3.  It’s weird. After the first baby, my uterus packed its suitcase and up and left without even leaving a note.

4. The satanic cult said they only needed the one.

5. I suffer from adult baby syndrome. My doctor said I would need to give birth to an adult to take care of me.

6. Oh, so you want to know about my husband and my lovemaking sessions? Great! I’ve been waiting to tell you about them for like, ever. First we light all of our Paula Deen Crisco-scented candles until our living room smells like the midway at a state fair. Then my husband lets the gimp and monkey out of the cellar. While the gimp teaches the monkey to whistle Nelly’s “It’s Getting Hot in Here,” my husband begins to cut pieces of his clothing off and stuff them into his mouth. By this point I’m done eating the peanut butter sandwich I’ve made in the kitchen and become part of the quartet as the monkey begins spinning like a whirling dervish….wait, where are you going?

7. Oh see the psychic told me my next child would ask completely inappropriate personal questions of work acquaintances and I didn’t want to inflict that on anyone.