Remember how the advice from the peanut gallery about being pregnant made me go crazy?
Wasn't that funny?
Because now that I have emitted a human from my vag, every fucking person I've ever known is suddenly an expert on breeding. Sorry, they call it parenting. IS THAT EVEN A WORD???
Look, if you weren't privy to the knowledge that I was even knocked up, you're probably not the person I'll confide in about my post-delivery vagina, okay? Also, I can do math. That means I'm well aware that if I have a baby in one hand, that I only have one hand to do other stuff, so patronisingly telling me that soon I'll have to cook dinner with one hand is probably not constructive.
And you know, messaging me to tell me that I might be traumatized from the birth because it's difficult? Yeah, I was there. I know if it was traumatic or not. So how about back off? Stop recommending baby brands to me. I have different taste, I live in a different country, and I already own plenty of shit. Don't recommend that I relax about any aspect of anything, because I am so chill except for the Free Advice that it's silly. And seriously, truly, do not randomly tell me to not worry about my weight.
I've had somewhere in the region of 40-odd facebook messages in the last 24 hours of condescending, offensive, inane, stupid advice. That's on top of what's being posted on my actual facebook. I can't. I just can't. And this is just the beginning.
I'm an outgoing person. I get along with most people. I wouldn't really say I have social issues. But sweet cheesus in the oceans, please save me, because I'm a hair away from felony.
Who is it with the space cats again? I NEED THEM NOW!