Things That Exist That I Just Don’t Understand

I’ll be the first to admit, there are many things I don’t know…How many whiskeys I had, when exactly that condom fell off, what’s that camera doing on my nightstand. However, there is one phenomenon that I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good hold on…

Knowing if I am pregnant. Or not.

Let me just preface this by saying, that no, I’ve never been preggers—and I can hear the collective sigh of relief from all those fuckers I’ve fucked in my fucking past. So, rest assured, fuckers, I’m not going to be showing up on your doorstep with a five-year-old child who looks EXACTLY like you and say it’s yours and you need to take a paternity test. And, yes, that’s a true story that happened to one of my exes. But I digress.

I’ve never been pregnant. There’s been plenty of close calls and going to the old pharmacy for some Plan B, but no little evil ones. That said, as someone whose body goes through the oh-so-delightful cycle of being female, not knowing you are pregnant several months into the pregnancy—like, oh, say, eight months—in my mind is the equivalent of not knowing if you are breathing or not. You just know. Or you figure it out pretty damn fast when stuff starts going awry.

So, the very fact that this show exists, TLC’s “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant,” (now in its second season, admittedly I’m late to the game on this one, but it just got cold outside, hence I’m watching more TV) is fucking amazing. Not just amazing. Fucking Amazing! And, much like its beloved sisters on TLC, “650-lb. Virgin” and “Half-ton Teen,” it’s a freak show of oversized proportions—heavy on the “ew” and “oh-my-God” factors, squealing and covering one’s eyes. For optimal enjoyment, I suggest getting stoned beforehand.

Of course, the episodes feature different women in reenactments of real-life situations, i.e., they interview the peeps alongside the “actors” who are reliving their hells. But, much like the bitch who popped one out on a filthy campground bathroom floor, they all have pretty similar qualities. Here’s what you’re in for:

Oh, let’s call this one Ashley. Ashley and her chubby hubby are both mouth-breathers and what we’d call obese, but she’s had a history of infertility so there’s no way she could ever get pregnant…Mmm, can’t you just taste the foreshadowing, like marshmallow Peeps and hot cocoa, on your tongue–it’s delicious, yet cheap and disgusting?

Then Ashley starts putting on a little weight, but she’s big anyway and thinks it’s just the extra stress from being unemployed. She starts having pains (i.e. cramps), so she goes to the doctor. They can’t find what’s wrong with her. So she goes home. She has more pains and goes to the chiropractor, who proceeds to put her on her stomach and beat the ever-living shit out of her fat back. Then she goes home. Still in pain, days later, she goes back to ER. Doctors figure she’s just super-constipated–and doesn’t that sound like fun?–so they give her some suppositories and send her home.

Now it gets good:

“I put the suppository up there,” says Chubby Hubby. “And I’m like, ‘Go to it, Honey!’ ”

They go to bed, looking like two beached whales rolling around a double-sized mattress. In the middle of the night, she gets up again, “Ugh! Honey, I think it’s coming!” Ashley’s so excited about her impending movement, she goes to the bathroom and plops down on the toilet, screaming and giving updates to Chubby Hubby.

They show all this, by the way.

So, she’s squealing and squiggling around on the john and pushing and all of a sudden, “I feel it, a huge relief,” she says. Plop. Then she’s sitting there and the husband comes in and looks at her. “Do you hear a baby crying?” she says. He looks confused. “Uh, yeah? Is it coming from outside?” They look at each other for a few seconds, then she tries to get off the toilet…and lo and behold! There’s a baby!

Gee whiz? How’d that get there?

And therein lies the genius of the show. Since TLC is also the demon that spawned those assholes Jon and Kate and their asshole kids, it’s not surprising that this is what we’ve come to—watching fat women poop out their puppies into toilets. And I, for one, am not above watching it.

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