When my pregnancy test came out positive, I was nervous despite my excitement. I dreaded telling my husband the news and when I finally worked up the courage to, anger and disappointment swept across his face. It was only when I told him that I was expecting a boy did his mood lighten up. With a huge smile on his face, he yelled, “I can’t wait for my son to follow my footsteps as a Wall Street hack!” and then proceeded to stick some cocaine up my nostrils. Holy cow, did that feel great.
The usual symptoms of pregnancy starting kicking in: morning sickness, backaches, the knowledge of being financially responsible for a whole ass human. So, I asked my husband for more of the snow and he gladly gave it to me. My pain went away instantly and I knew from that moment I was going on coke for the rest of my pregnancy. I visited my OBGYN shortly after and recommended that she prescribe me cocaine because, of course, I wanted to take it legally. Unfortunately, she denied my request, stating that I needed to do what was responsible for my baby. How DARE she! Ladies, you know your bodies best and as long as what you’re doing is safe, NEVER let anyone dictate what to do with your body during pregnancy. Especially not your doctor. She even had the audacity to try to call the cops! But before she could do that, my amazing hubby pointed his shotgun at her head and she finally relented.
I was shunned by everyone I knew; even the other women at my prenatal yoga class ostracized me. Out of all people, I couldn’t believe expecting moms were judging me too. Why did they care if I took cocaine after every session to ease my joint pain? I needed to listen my body and prioritize myself first. Screw those bitches. I drank so much kale smoothies for my baby so that it would be healthy anyways. I couldn’t stand the criticism so I stopped doing yoga shortly before my due date.
Soon enough, the little shit came knocking on my vajayjay, but I was ready for it. Expectant mothers often like to prepare for the birth by educating themselves, but my pregnancy app told me that my baby was the size of a romaine lettuce head so that’s all I needed to know. I had opted for a home birth with no pain meds because modern medicine is for liberal pussies who actually believe that shit. I even chose to lay off the coke for a little bit. After a couple pushes, baby Jaxxon Hunter White IV entered the world. I told my doula not to do a pediatric examination since I knew he was strong and well. (He was breathing. Sort of… he’ll get the hang of it, he’s a late bloomer!) Then I pushed out the placenta and ate that motherfucker raw. For dessert, I bit off a piece of the umbilical cord. (Just because I was pregnant doesn’t mean I couldn’t get my mouth down there! You better believe I’m still a freak in the sheets.)
I share my story in order to communicate to other mommies that we NEED to stop judging each other! Pregnancy affects every woman differently and we need to respond to our bodies as we feel best. We need to destigmatize atypical pregnancies and births because as new parents, we all have the best interest of our little one in mind, even if that means we do things a bit differently from each other. So the next time you interact with a pregnant woman, encourage her. Snort that cocaine. Eat that placenta. You do you, honey.