He's Back

Week 29.


So of all the things she's done to me today she outdid herself. My personal nightmare cousin Santiago is flying in today. I overheard them. He will be sleeping in my bed. MY BED!!!! Could this be payback for refusing to let her see my face last week at the ultrasound with Dr. Stella? If so, touché mother, TOUCHE.

A Cry For Help

Will someone please tell her that Harvard caliber brains aren't formed on frozen Twix alone?

Beating Your Kids is Acceptable in Central America

Week 26.

I must avoid a place called Comalapa at all costs. This is due to a conversation I overheard between my mother and her friends where she basically said that while in US soil she can't really discipline me, but will keep track of my pecadilloes on a notepad and break it out when we get there, along with the belt. The irony of it all is I thought I had avoided any potential physical abuse by not going anywhere near the Taliban.

In any case, I have put two and two together and that's the name of the airport (I remember this from our trip a few weeks ago). This is my concern: What happens in Comalapa stays in Comalapa. People see others whacking their kids with chancletas, belts or whatever the parental figure has at hand and no one says boo. Well mother, I am on to you. Maybe you should have laid off the DHA, I am WAY too smart for you already. I have it figured out- I'll just steal the list.HA HA.

Dietary Concerns

Week 25.

Salad at last. Nobody be surprised if once I'm born I balk at the suggestion of any of the following: Hawaiian pizza, cheese doodles with lime juice, Elotillos Diana *, Babys Diana*, pound cake or orange soda. I have had enough to last a lifetime. How about some milk, lady? perhaps some fruit?

Conclusion of the day: my mother must be fat. This is worrisome to me for a plethora of reasons, but basically it boils down to this- if she's fat I will probably get fat under her watch as well. Now this is a problem as I aspire to excel in sports and none of these include zumo wrestling. These are the times when I really wish I had access to material on early emancipation. Where is my father when I need him????????


*Her Salvadorean junk food.Think yellow 05 with green 57 and other ingredients banned in the U.S. all mixed with partially hydrogenated oil.Barf.

Ladies Man

Despite the fact that I won't make my debut for another 100 days I have learned I already have a gf. My mother has picked her out, as I learned from overhearing her conversation with her friend Fran (my future mother in law). My gf's name is Sienna, which I think is a very pretty name. She is somewhat older than I am which could be interesting or it could be disaster. Whatever, I'm gonna go for it.

Concrete Jungle

I think my life almost never started today. I was woken by the horrible noise of NYC traffic, followed by a loud bang on what sounded like the hood or side of a car- and my mother yelling at someone. "LOOK AT THE LIGHT YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!! I'M PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
There's no way for me to be a able to tell exactly what happened (since I only rely on my hearing) - but I imagine she was crossing the street while the light for her to walk was on and a car decided to mow us down anyway. Two things became clear today:
1. My mother sounds scary when she opens her potty mouth to yell at people. I hope I never find myself on the receiving end of her Turret's laced wrath.
And
2. Despite the fact that she feeds me tuna and guzzles caffeine occasionally,when it matters, this woman has my back. I think I love her already.

Discomfort

I wish she would just give up and buy maternity clothes already. I am afraid I'll get a permanent button shaped dent on my forehead, much like Harry Potter's thunderbolt- except for him it was a sign that he was magical and powerful- for me it's a sign my mother is a skin flint. OMG. Maybe we're poor????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????



Update. We're not poor. She just got me baby tweed pants from Italy. I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER.

Mothers Are Supposed to Make Good Choices

T-118

I think I chose wisely. I am not even out of here yet and I've already traveled to other countries. Well, one country. But I did go there on an airplane ( sophistication points:1). The name of the country I went to is El Salvador (sophistication points: -2) and apparently it's where my mom is from. I obviously don't know what it looks like but it seemed like a really fun place. I mean, all we did down there was go to parties (yup, I had champy and beer), socialize , eat and catch the sun. That part was maybe not so much fun for me. She basically hard boiled me in a pool all day. Come think of it, maybe she wasn't such a great choice, considering she's given me alcohol and sun overexposure already.

Anyway, loon or not, my mother has many friends down there so I guess she can't be that bad. I heard a million different voices, most of which sounded nice. There is one that terrifies me, though. It belongs to my cousin, the one they call Santiago. He is a MAD MAN.We went to a pajama party at his house and (again with questionable judgement) my mother participated in a pillow fight. Santiago got me good a couple of times, while my aunt screamed at him. "Be careful! Finn is in there!" At least SOMEONE is looking out for me. I continued to flinch, and it is my belief that thanks to that brat I now suffer from PTSD.

Week 23-I Am Finn

I have been encapsuled in this woman's body for almost six months. The first few were, of course, a blur. You cannot expect a zygote to remember anything. But ever since I perked up my little ears I can pick up on stuff and daydream about my future life all day long. Well, all day long is aggressive since I do sleep about eighteen hours each day. So far these are the facts that my power of deduction has provided me with:

- My dad's name is "Chele"

- My mom and dad speak different languages. (If I had emojis I'd insert a really excited one here!)

- I think I might be going to a city called New York. This city is VERY loud.


And this one I am one hundred percent sure of: I am Finn.

T- 252 The Baby Hunger Games

For those of you who wonder how you ended up a part of your family (who the heck made THAT choice???) here's a little newsflash- YOU did. Remember that the next time you think the stork dropped you in the wrong place, or that it wasn't your decision to live in this world. Take me, for example. Not long ago I was one of millions of unborn eager babies, yearning for the chance to get assigned some parents and come to the world. I know it's a weird concept, so let me explain how it works. We all hang out in heaven, millions of us, waiting for the chance to prove we are ready to experience life. The supply is overwhelmingly superior to the demand so there is a selection process. Think of it as the Baby Hunger Games meets Gladiator. I won't tell you what I had to do to prove I was R-E-A-D-Y , all I can say is I CRUSHED IT and here I am, in some woman's belly. four weeks in. Once we earn our spot we can make four requests regarding our destination and our parents. When I was asked for mine I stated the following (plus my reasoning in parentheses):

1. I want bicultural parents. (I feel it gives one an air of ...shall we say sophistication? to have more than one passport and speak more than one language.)

2.I don't want to go anywhere near the Taliban. (Those places are rough, especially if your gender is of the lamer variety.)

3.I want to have blond hair, so one of my parents must have the genetic coding to make this happen.

4.The procreational partners who produce me cannot under any circumstances be drug users. (I want to be smart, and go to Harvard. The spawn of junkies barely have enough brain cells to keep their eyes open, much less go to college.)

That's it. That's all I am allowed to ask for. I figure they make us stop narrowing it down at four, or we'd all be Kate Middleton's son.