Belly Laughs
Page 1
Table of Contents
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
So You Got Knocked Up? - (Getting Pregnant)
Honey, Your Sperm Really Do Work! - (Pregnancy Tests)
Barf-O-Rama - (Morning Sickness)
Niagara in My Pants - (Vaginal Discharge)
Psycho Chick - (Hormonal Rage)
Holy Shit, I Think I Hard-Boiled My Baby! - (Taking Hot Baths)
Granny Panties - (Letting Go of the G-String)
I Can Either Pee on You or You Can Get the Hell Out of My Way! - (Frequent Pee Breaks)
Passing Stonehenge - (Constipation)
Is It a Penis or a Vagina? - (Finding Out the Sex)
Can I Have a Mustard Sandwich with Pickles, Anchovies, Peanut Butter, and a ...
Where in the Hell Can I Find a Muumuu? - (Nothing to Wear)
Freddy Krueger Ain’t Got Nothing on Me! - (Dreams)
Is That an Apple on Your Rectum, or Are You Just Happy to See Me? - (Hemorrhoids)
Hi, Porn Star! - (Engorged Breasts)
Ready and Squeeze . . . Your Kegels - (An Exercise for the Vagina)
Well, It’s Not 1972 Anymore! - (Baby Boomers Explaining How It Was in Their Day)
Did a Sewer Tank Explode, or Did You Just Fart? - (Gas)
Hands Off, Dude! - (Strangers Touching Your Belly)
I Can’t See! I’m Bleeding! I Can’t Stand It! - (Weird and Painful Bits and Pieces)
www.ihavetostopbuyingbabyshit.com - (On-Line Baby Stores)
Is It Hot in Here or Is It Just Me? . . . It’s Just Me - (Hot Flashes and ...
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, OOOOOOOOHHHHHHH! . . . I’ll Take Another One of Those, Please! ...
The Crying Game - (Hormonal Blues)
So, Anyway, Like I Was Saying . . . Wait, What Was I Saying? - (Wandering Mind)
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Who’s the Prettiest Pregnant Lady of Them All? ...
It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! . . . No, It’s a Really Swollen Pregnant Lady! - ...
The McRib Sandwich - (Back Pain)
Headaches - (Headaches . . . Duh)
That Ain’t My Ass! - (Cellulite Gain)
No, Not Yet! I’m Not Ready for This Yet! - (Premature Labor)
Poopin’ on the Table - (The Dark Side of Delivery)
The Blue Twinkies - (Your Swollen Vagina)
Die, Model Bitch, Die! - (Hating Skinny People)
OOOOH! I Think I Felt the Baby Move . . . or Maybe It’s Just Gas - (Baby Kicks)
Organizing Freak - (Your Nesting Instinct)
Breathing for Dummies - (Lamaze)
What the Fu*k Are These? - (Stretch Marks)
I Just Need to Lie Down for, Like, Five Minutes . . . Okay, Maybe Three Months ...
Pig in the Pasture - (Sex in the Ninth Month)
The Moment of Truth - (Labor and Delivery)
Let Me Repeat - (Husband No-No’s)
Copyright Page
Praise for the coast to coast sensation:
“Down-to-earth, irreverent and (bless her) honest, this hilarious book by Jenny McCarthy takes a wicked look at all stages of pregnancy. Perfect for prenatal waits outside the doctor’s office.”
—Oxygen
“McCarthy is undeniably crass but funny, and her candor and self-deprecation are refreshing . . . a hoot.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Offers way too much information on childbirth. Actress Jenny McCarthy is frank and humorous with her insights on granny panties, cravings, poopin’ on the table (This chapter begins: ‘No one ever talks about this!’) and other mishaps expectant mothers should expect.”
—Miami Herald
“Chatty and crude”.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A book on pregnancy and childbirth hasn’t hit the hardcover bestseller charts for several decades. But that has changed with Belly Laughs.”
—Publishers Weekly, “Behind the Bestsellers”
“[A] comedic book.”
—Woman’s Own
“Jenny McCarthy’s pregnancy was not pretty! [This] Playboy playmate’s new book lays the misery on the line—in graphic detail . . . sets the record straight about what to REALLY expect when you’re expecting.”
—National Enquirer
“[A] Best Book for Her . . . This way-too-revealing pregnancy book will hit snooze on your girlfriend’s baby clock.”
—Maxim
“A no-holds-barred account of [McCarthy’s] pregnancy and what other soon-to-be mothers can expect . . . This lighthearted pregnancy book is ideal for anyone who is pregnant, plans to become pregnant or has ever been pregnant.”
—Los Angeles Family
“Details the trials and tribulations of [McCarthy’s] tough pregnancy.”
—Star
“You don’t even have to be knocked up to enjoy it.”
—Playboy
“What’s noble about this book (yes, noble) is that women who find these topics too embarrassing to bring up now have a place to read about them in a frank and open discussion . . . refreshing, and, ultimately, necessary. Not to mention funny. Like a gossipy girlfriend, McCarthy brings you in and makes you laugh . . . A must-have.”
—Booklist
“Funny . . . blunt.”
—Wisconsin State Journal
“Dishes dirt on giving birth that you never knew you needed to know . . . [McCarthy] is quite funny and, in the end, this is a celebration of motherhood.”
—Gotham
“Candid.”
—Toronto Globe & Mail
“Jenny McCarthy is now the go-to girl for pregnancy. She tells you things you wanted to know but didn’t know to ask.”
—Toronto Star
“McCarthy [is] more cut-up than pin-up . . . She’s too loud, too blond, too raunchy. She’s also hilarious . . . [She] minces no words about horrors like flab, Kegels and psycho-chick mood swings.”
—Northwest Indiana Times
“Honest . . . funny, blunt and totally inappropriate.”
—Dallas Morning News
“A fun, lighthearted read.”
—ePregnancy
New York Times bestseller
USA Today bestseller
Wall Street Journal bestseller
Publishers Weekly bestseller
Book Sense bestseller
Borders Best Book of 2004
Amazon.com Best Book of 2004
Books-a-Million Best Book of 2004
To Evan—
the little man who changed Mommy’s world. Thank you for filling my soul with giggles and allowing me to experience the kind of love I had only read about in fairy tales. You are my sunshine.
So You Got Knocked Up?
(Getting Pregnant)
Though as a warning we were always told that getting pregnant was an easy thing to do, most of you know that trying to get pregnant can be a grind—not always nearly as easy as they told you back in sex ed. Still, you did the nasty and got the job done. Congratulations and welcome to the club! You’re finally going to get the opportunity to fully utilize your uterus and get to know your vagina in ways that you’ve never imagined.
As most mothers will tell you, pregnancy is a roller-coaster ride full of laughs, cries, aches, pains, and love the likes of which you’ve never experienced before. But because they’ve either conveniently forgotten with time or they’re trying to be supportive, most mothers won’t tell you how hard pregnancy (and then childbirth) can be. Let me tell you, it is. It’s brutal sometimes! But, if I did it, ANYONE can do it. I mean, I always knew I was meant to do something really BIG in life, and now I know that this was it. Screw winning an Academy Award someday . . . I GAVE BIRTH! In my eyes, women should be adored and thanked on a daily basis fo
r their strength, endurance, and willingness to give birth. If it were up to men to do so, Adam and Eve would have been the only humans to ever walk the face of the earth.
If you bought this book, you are already aware of my frankness when it comes to certain things—anatomy and bodily functions among them. If someone gave this book to you as a gift and you’ve never heard of me, apologies to you! Because pregnancy took my frankness to a whole new level. I found myself revealing things about what was happening to me that most women are way too embarrassed to talk about. But what I found is what I hope you’ll discover, too: It’s a huge relief to know that other women are going through similar gross and smelly things. And girl, are they ever. No pregnant woman has entirely escaped the rough waters that lie ahead of you. Some got off easier than others, of course, but in one way or another, we’ve all been there. And having been there grants all of us membership in our own massive club. (Though he may be supportive and understanding, not even your male gyno can get access to our club. I mean, he’s seen the process up close and really personal, but has he squeezed a watermelon through the hole in his penis to approximate the pain his patients feel? I don’t think so.)
Bottom line: Brace yourself. The only silver lining to the horrific things I went through is that I can relay them here for your reading pleasure. You are going to hear me tell it like it is. Sometimes I’ll make you laugh and sometimes I’ll scare the shit out of you, but know this . . . I think it’s in your best interest to know the full range of strange things that might happen to you. And what’s more, I would do it all over again in a second, and when all’s said and done, I’ll bet you’ll want to, too.
Honey, Your Sperm Really Do Work!
(Pregnancy Tests)
Finally, his sperm have been put to good use. His poor little fish didn’t have to die in a cold rubber, drown in spermicide, or get scrubbed out of your hair. They have served their God-given purpose, and the little dipstick that can change your future has confirmed that life is indeed about to change for you. Here’s how it all happened for me.
When we were “trying” to conceive, my husband and I were afraid of doing anything that seemed inappropriate during sex, like, say, uttering the slightest noise. Missionaries never had it so quiet and clean. We knew that what we were doing was creating a beautiful life, so the last thing I was going to tell my husband to do was to slap my ass and call me a naughty bitch. Our innocence seemed to have worked because weeks later I found out I was pregnant. Discovering was one of the most fun parts of the entire process.
We were traveling to New Orleans on business. Well, actually he was working. I chummed along because I hated being without him. The night we arrived we went out to eat. It was the first time I experienced a sensation that would become very familiar: that gaping hole in my stomach that was screaming for something to fill it. When we sat at the table, I asked the waiter ever so politely to bring some bread to the table immediately. There was urgency bordering on hysteria in my voice and the look on my face worried my husband. He offered me a piece of gum to hold me over and I told him to shove it up his butt. One minute passed and there was still no sign of bread. I stopped everybody who walked past our table and asked them to bring over some fucking bread. Minutes seemed like hours. But still, no bread came. My eyes filled with tears as I begged my husband to go to the kitchen and grab the bread. He knew if he didn’t I was going to jump over our table to the one next to us and eat their bread. Either that or I was going to beat the shit out of our waiter.
So, off my husband went. As instructed (by him), I remained sitting at the table but by this time I was cross-eyed and becoming delirious with hunger. I stopped for a moment and thought, “Hey, maybe I have a tapeworm,” but the thought didn’t last long because seconds later, off on the horizon, I saw the most beautiful loaves of white bread in my husband’s hands. He was my hero.
My husband got me bread! I loved him for that. Screw diamonds! I went to bed that night still worrying over tapeworm, but that was to be my last night with that particular worry. My discovery of “pregnanthood” came the next morning.
My husband left very early for work while I lay in the hotel bed complaining and whining about having cramps. Before we left for the trip my husband had bought a pregnancy test and I, ever skeptical, had bought tampons. As the morning progressed my cramps were so bad I thought for sure I was bleeding all over the place. So I grabbed a tampon and headed for the bathroom. I ripped off my underwear expecting the leftovers from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre only to find . . . NOTHING. I pondered for a moment as I stared at my tampon. I decided to give the tampon a second life, and I put it back in the box. I walked over and grabbed the pregnancy test my husband had been trying to get me to take. I thought, “What the hell?” As I peed on the stick I hoped I was pregnant but just “knew” that I wasn’t. But as soon as I was done peeing I held up the stick and a plus sign appeared immediately. My mouth dropped to the floor and I rubbed my eyes in total disbelief. My husband’s sperm totally worked and my eggs weren’t rotten. Oh my God. OH. MY. GOD. I’M PREGNANT!!
I ran to the mirror just to witness the expression on my face. And you know what? I’ve honestly never seen myself happier. I was positively giddy! I giggled at myself in the mirror and began jumping up and down. I looked down at my belly and smiled. We had created life. I wanted to introduce myself to the embryo and tell him to enjoy the ride. And I clearly remember thinking: I’m going to be a great mom.
My husband wasn’t coming back to the hotel for ten more hours and that was the longest wait in history. But the wait was worth it. I didn’t want to tell him on the phone. I had to see the excitement on his face. When he walked in the door he noticed a funny look on mine. I couldn’t stand it and said casually, “I’m pregnant, baby.” He looked at me and his face softened. He hugged and kissed me and then he praised his sperm. He was so proud of himself. I was proud of us. We fell asleep talking about names and whose features we hoped our baby would have.
Little did my husband know what was headed his way. Not the hardships of a newborn, no. He had to get ready for the wave of craziness and sometimes hell his pregnant wife was about to experience. Follow us down that happy, hellish hole . . .
Barf-O-Rama
(Morning Sickness)
As anyone who has ever endured it knows, the term morning sickness is bullshit. Morning has very little to do with it. For me, it started in the morning and went straight through the night. The label morning must have been thought up by a man who thought it was all in our heads and hoped that limiting the definition would make us all shut up by noon. Well, I don’t think so, buddy! I say, come on over to my house around 5 p.m. so I can heave on you.
Some women I know have had this worse than others. Some have puked every fifteen minutes all day long and others just a few times a day. I consider myself to have had it even harder than the pukers. I was in a constant state of queasiness that would cause me to gag or dry-heave. You know that second before you throw up where your mouth gets really watery and you start to sweat and you do that horrible run to the bathroom hoping to just get it out so you don’t have to feel that anymore? That was me . . . ALL DAY. I was stuck in that in-between state where nothing would come out. I would just stare at the toilet sweating and praying to the porcelain God not to let me dwell any longer in puke purgatory. I would have sold my soul for one of two options: Either let me puke or let me feel better.
Going to the grocery store was a freakin’ nightmare. I was terrified every time I had to go. Celebrity life isn’t all personal assistants and glamour, let me tell you. Oh yes, I do my own shopping. I would walk in pale and sweaty with my little list in my hand and run through the aisles. To me, the meat counter smelled like dead animals that had been left in the sun for a year. I would cringe and hold my sleeve up to my nose as I passed. Everything in that store disgusted me. Strangers gawked at me as they saw me gagging in Aisle 3 holding up some cheese. It’s hard having these symptoms in public when
you don’t look pregnant. If I were nine months along they would look at me like “oh look, poor little pregnant lady doesn’t feel so good.” Instead they looked at me as if to say, “Don’t bulimics puke after they eat?”
Television food commercials killed me. I loved them for cravings later on, but during this early stage I turned green when I saw someone eat a greasy cheese-burger or some Hamburger Helper. Speaking of green, if any type of vegetable or salad was in my vicinity (or even talked about in passing conversation), I would feel the need to eliminate the healthy little bastard. Everyone always talks about eating healthy for the baby, but the only healthy thing I ever got down in nine months was an apple. I was worried my kid was going to come out looking like a chocolate chip cookie. Health food DISGUSTED me.
You’d think with all this aversion to food that I would lose weight during this period . . . nope. Instead, I gained a lot. Probably because the only thing that I could get down was an entire loaf of white bread every day. As I would later find out from asking around, the people who do lose weight during “morning sickness” eventually catch up to us fat pregnant women later. Fair’s fair.
So if you succumb to becoming best friends with your toilet, don’t fret. Just remember you’re not alone. All women are right there with ya holding your hair up, cheering you on. For most of us, it all passes in a few long months. The max is nine months, I promise.
Niagara in My Pants
(Vaginal Discharge)