This is Heather.  She is batshit insane, and you can’t blame it on the succubus currently inhabiting her uterus, because she was always like this.  After you get through her barely-coherent rantings, read this week’s other guest posts from some other kick-ass bloggers, if you haven’t already. Which you should have. (If you’re wondering why all the guests: go here.)

Hi there, it’s me, Heather of Gild the (Voodoo)lily, helpin’ a sister out (yes, I am totally linking my own blog because Michelle asked us to say who we were in the post and I love hyperlinking I FUCKING LOVE IT). Being knocked up really isn’t that different than going through the trials of new Krazy Medz™, I suppose. I mean, I guess it’s a little like finding one that works, and it might even work for a few weeks (the cooing! oh, the joyful cooing).

But then pretty soon you’re crying at your desk because you watched the Japanese trailer of My Neighbor Totoro and the little girls look so happy even though their mom is sick, in the hospital in the city, and they wait at the bus stop for their dad and the forest is so pretty, but the tadpoles are so tiny and you cry, okay? You just fucking do. Then you have to buck up real quick before someone sees you, because even though you know they wouldn’t say anything to your face (not in your condition), they are totally thinking it.

See? Exactly the same. Except that I get to skip having periods for a year or so.

Okay, I guess there are differences. For example, whereas Krazy Medz™ may remove any joy you derive from things like cooking and eating, being in the pudding club means cooking and eating just make you want to puke. And Krazy Medz™ do not usually result in a writhing, vernix-smeared larva clamping at your teat for sustenance, unless you are a paranoid schizophrenic. However, the Kwakiutl people of British Columbia bury girls’ placentas to give the girl skill in digging clams, and expose boys’ placentas to ravens to encourage future prophetic visions. And that is exactly the same as Krazy Medz™.

So there you have it. Michelle and I, we’re sisters in the trenches. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a half pound of black licorice Jelly Bellys that ain’t gonna eat themselves.