Don't Mess With Earl

Locked inside of me is a giant, muscular man named Earl. He wears sunglasses, a leather jacket, and a face tattoo that says “Don’t Mess With Earl.” Earl wants to come out sometimes and punch convex faces into concave holes but I don’t let that happen because I like to pretend that I’m a nice person. Most days he’s quiet and he doesn’t cause any problems, but some days Earl gets angry and I have to remind him that I’m not actually a giant man with thick muscles. I am a pregnant woman with the muscle tone of a comatose kitten. I can’t shouldn’t do the things he wants me to do.

Before I explain about Earl, let me explain something about pregnancy. People like to come up with cutesy terms for pregnancy. Some people find the process just adorable. Preggers, prego, pregalicious etc. My prenatal yoga instructor will not say butt, she consistently tells me to sit on my “bun cakes.” When my doctor told me that I was having a boy she said “there’s the teenie weenie.” My husband had to interpret for me because I hadn’t heard the word “weenie” since middle school.

So when people told me about “pregnancy brain” I didn’t think that it was a real thing. I thought it was just a cutesy way of  saying that I’d be extra tired for nine months. I didn’t expect the following: lack of focus, forgetfulness, getting all teary-eyed at every death in my zombie audiobook, hate-crying on my husband when he wakes me up from a nap...the list goes on and on. But that’s ok because it’s socially acceptable for pregnant women to be sleepy, emotional, and slightly cranky. You can still play that off as adorable.

Earl isn’t adorable. He doesn’t do cutesy. And he really wants a nap.

When I’m tired or dealing with “pregnancy brain” or whatever this is then I’m too distracted to keep him in check. At moments like this it is dangerous for a stranger to suggest that perhaps my lawn chair is beyond the approved lawn chair zone in the amphitheater. When that stranger points to the “No Lawn Chairs Past This Point” sign he’s actually just pointing out the nearest blunt heavy object to beat him with. Earl appreciates his consideration.

Realistically the stranger was right and I was wrong. After a brief and entirely embarrassing confrontation I took down my lawn chair. But the adrenaline would not fade. I was angry for at least a half hour and then I felt like an idiot for the rest of the evening.

It’s times like this that I wish I was a little bit more like Earl. People carefully consider their options before bothering a guy who looks like that. I want a simple, easy way to signal to people “Don’t mess with me; I’m tired and I haven’t eaten in two hours.” Instead of yelling at strangers I could just glare menacingly and achieve the same result...Or I can simply wait until my gut starts to actually look like a baby bump. I’ve heard that works too. People think twice before messing with women who are hugely pregnant. Plus it’s less permanent than a face tattoo.