Dear Babymama:
I feel ya, sister. There you are, standing in the middle of the desert/ocean/mountains/trailer park wearing ill fitting garments with your stomach distended, containing a live human who in a matter of weeks is either going to be cut out of you with the force of a knife, or pushed out of your slowly expanding wax clown lips. 


Yet, somehow, everyone keeps telling you you’ve “never been more feminine”, you’re “glowing” and that your husband/baby daddy/ future ex/sperm donor has “never been more attracted to you.” Guess what? 

They’re all lying. 

Exactly no one is attracted to you. That’s part of the way nature fucks women over. While men suffer no visible physical changes during pregnancy, your giant stomach signals to men everywhere that some other dude has marked his territory, and causes their balls to recess into their pelvic cavity at the thought of possibly being tied down by knocking ANY chick up. Instant boner killer. Women pretend to be envious that you got some dude to commit to you for a few minutes during conception, a few hours during birth and possibly a few months throughout the child’s next eighteen years, but secretly, they are like “… no fucking way am I standing in the desert wearing a queen size bedsheet showing the world I’m too fat for my Rag and Bone skinnies…”

Listen. I know you really like these pictures. You think that whoever that dude is who is in them with you cares about them as much as you do. That he will gaze lovingly at them and experience feelings of overwhelming joy and gratitude for this special commitment you two share. You are spending a months wages to capture this incredible bond so he can savor it forever. Let me save you some trouble, ok? 

He won’t.

In fact, he won’t even know where these pictures are five minutes after you show them to him. All you’re doing is setting yourself up for disappointment. No guy likes anyone enough to get this intimate in public unless there’s a blow job involved. And even then, it’s more of a tactical decision than an expression of emotion. Plus this whole kissing/touching your stomach area is a totally staged load of shit. Sure, your “soul mate” will place his hand on your stomach. No problem. But the whole time he’s thinking “… if I push hard enough, could I get the baby to make her fart/pee/shit herself?” It’s all about dominance. That’s why they knock you up in the first place! To keep you in line. Until one day when they arbitrarily decide you’re too much work because you dare to disagree with their infallible life mantra by making fun of Chuck Norris/Chuck Berry/Chuck Barris one too many times, and they kick your ass to the curb for a less mouthy (most likely foreign) make, with fewer independent thoughts and even less ability to express them. 

Do yourself, and the world, a favor. You don’t look that great. Ok? Pregnancy is not about being sexy. AT ALL. In fact, it’s basically a punishment for being sexy. So, you know, ease up on the in utero porn. Wait until AFTER you expel this human from your vag and then hire a photographer to take pictures of you and your child. That’s right. I said YOUR child. If the child’s father has enough interest in photo documenting his journey through time with the child, he will make sure it happens. Believe me. You presenting him with photographic evidence that he can dig out of the bottom of his junk/porn drawer in ten years and use to convince himself that you aren’t that hot anymore after a decade of popping out babies, cleaning toilets and licking his ballsack will only work against you. 

You can thank me later. Everyone else can thank me now. 

Give it a rest, Jenna Jameson. That sheet is barely covering what’s about to become the second biggest hole in the state of Arizona.