NOTE TO THOSE WHO DARE TO READ FURTHER:
You are about to read what may perhaps be the only written account of the birth of our Lord and Savior depicted with the use of about eleventy expletives.
It's my damn blog.
It's my damn life.
Go away and don't read it.
I've never touted myself as the Virgin Mary (yeah, okay maybe I did).
Consider yourselves warned and govern yourselves accordingly.
I'm shaking my angry fist at God, and dammit, three freaking pastors and eighteen Christians and a whole freaking Bible have told me it's okay and I have yet to be struck down by lightning, so there.
You want cookie cutter Mommie Bloggie It's off to see the Wizard crap happy happy joy joy?
This blog ain't for you.
I want you to write about it.
You NEED to write about it.
But I don't want to write about it.
But why don't you want to about it?
You're such a great writer.
A really really great writer.
I really don't want to write about it.
You should write a book.
About your whole life.
Yeah, I've heard that a thousand times.
Then why don't you write it?
Because I just can't imagine that anyone would want to read it!
I mean, ME, I would NOT want to read it.
And ME, I love the freaks.
I studied the freaks.
I worked with the freaks.
I AM a freak.
I AM a living, breathing, Saturday-night-LIFETIME-movie-of-the-week-freak for Christ's sake.
I am EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY NIGHT, LIFETIME MOVIE OF THE WEEK that has ever been aired.
Let's run through the marquee, shall we?:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN
ABANDONED AT FOUR
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE
Who watches that crap?
Who wants to read that crap?
You need to write it because it has made you wise.
And now I realize, the titles aren't complete.
They actually go something like this:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN - and lived to tell about it.
ABANDONED AT FOUR - yet loved again.
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX - redeemed through justice and saved by God.
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER - she couldn't save the world's abused children, but she saved herself.
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME - and made room for the love of her life.
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK - but she didn't die.
DEATH BECOMES HER - 'cept not.
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE - but they sure as heck didn't.
I need to become more grateful.
I need to see the joy in the small things.
To Conceive, Birth, Raise and Adore Those Babies Who Were Supposed to Die.
Only to Expect Another.
That We Don't Want.
Sounds like a poor orphan girl named Maria.
She didn't want that baby.
She damn sure didn't want that baby.
Heckfire, she got pregnant and never had an orgasm.
Now THAT would suck.
Poor, unmarried, pregnant.
She probably thought:
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
WHAT THE HELL?
AND YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?
CARRY THIS 'BABY' WHO ALLEGEDLY IS A MESSIAH WHO WILL SOMEDAY SAVE THE WORLD,
CONVINCE MY CARPENTER BOYFRIEND THAT I REALLY AM THE VIRGIN MARY WHO IS PREGNANT WITH A MESSIAH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, HOPE THAT HE DOESN'T ASK ME WHOSE BABY IT IS CUZ I REALLY DON'T FUCKING KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED, THEN GET ON A FUCKING ASS, I MEAN DONKEY, RIDE THROUGH THE FUCKING DESERT GUIDED BY THE GPS OF A REALLY BIG ASS STAR, AND GIVE BIRTH LAYING IN A BUNCH OF HAY IN A FUCKING BARN WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL SURROUNDED BY SHEEP AND A TRIO OF WEIRD GUYS IN CROWNS BEARING GIFTS THAT AREN'T CHOCOLATE AND THEN HAVE TO GET BACK ON THAT ASS WHEN AN ALLEGED MESSIAH WAS JUST RIPPED FROM MY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD VAGINA?
Yeah, now that I have written it down....
Now that I realize,
I am not in fact the Virgin Mary.........
Now that I see that no,
I am not in fact pregnant with a messiah.....
Nor will I have to ride an ass in the desert neither before nor after having my vagina being ripped to shreds....
Nor have to endure life without an epidural nor any other drugs for that matter......
Now that I see in fact,
The most difficult thing I have had to do thus far was convince my carpenter husband that yes in fact this non messiah was going to be a spawn of his extremely rare seed........
Now that I see it.......
It has become.......
Which is precisely why I didn't want to write it down.
If I write it down........
Somehow it becomes more real......
More real than the morning sickness......
More real than boobs which have suddenly become huge and incredibly painful....
More real than the reality that this is potentially the most frightening thing that has ever happened to me....
More real than the total and complete improbability that I am in fact 'with child'....
More real than the realization that for such an agonizingly long time I yearned for this what should not have happened to in fact be happening....
If I write it down, it somehow becomes
R E A L.