Dear Diary


Dear Pregnancy Diary,

I’m one day away from being two weeks past my due date and getting induced! I know I should be upset yelling out, “Are you F’ING KIDDING ME?!” but I’m not Dear Diary, because after waiting this long, I no longer believe I’m pregnant. Isn’t it wonderful? I can’t remember anything I learned in my birthing class, I am no longer excited about what’s about to come because I don’t know what I’m waiting for anymore, and I don’t even believe I’m a woman. You would think that enduring 10 ½ months of the most female-specific experience would convince me otherwise, but no one in this episode of Twilight Zone can fool me anymore. My name’s Harry, and I’m just your friendly neighborhood trucker with a bloated belly.


How could I have gotten it so wrong Diary? Spending half of my year’s blog writing about pregnancy when I really shouldn’t have been writing at all. You know how many projects I left untouched in the garage as a result? I’m actually a little embarrassed. What kind of a man am I to forget who he is? I should never have complained about swollen ankles, fearing giving birth, or even trying to balance getting my career moving and having a family. Boring! Wow, I must have sounded like a real woman.

Ouch, my back. Hold on… No I’m not having a contraction. Backaches are what real men go through from all the hard work they do during the day. I just can’t wait to get this blog back on track. No more being scared of anything and getting all personal. I mean obviously I’ll need a few weeks to regroup–you don’t think you’re a woman for as long as I did and not need a few beers to recover. Oh wait Diary… sorry my stomach is tightening. Must have been the extra spicy sauce on those chicken wings I picked up at Big Wangs. Anyway, I’ll finish what I can for the rest of the year, but believe you me, by January this blog is going back to making comments about politics and the way we live here in the United States of America. Obviously I won’t be able to talk about women ’cause I wouldn’t know about that. But I will talk and not listen ‘cause that’s what a man does. Yep. Real manly like. Holy hell, Dear Diary! I think I’m gonna have a baby!

What do you have to say for yourself?

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