Time was finally flying by. I had miraculously completed two trimesters, or six months, of my pregnancy.
The bump was now happily replying to our nudging and rubbing, much to our delight. This was super cool, this feeling of being kicked the crap out of you, from inside you!
The extra-curricular and unwomanly activities had been passed on to the correct gender. I was no longer the man of the house!
There's nothing like pregnancy and labour to rob a woman of all her dignity, and I don't mean this in a demeaning and sexist manner. It's the most beautiful and natural thing in this world, but man! does it rid you of BLADDER CONTROL! I mean, whoa! It's worse than guzzling litres of water in a non-pregnant avatar for an ultrasound.
I found myself constantly rushing to the loo, half the time checking behind me if I had left a trail of pee. Whoops!
Anyway..!
The thing with luck is that it's good until it turns bad. Ditto with people, they are great, until they grow horns and flash 666 on their foreheads.
At work, my review was due and I was excited, because I had really been working my ass off in the condition that I was in. I was kicked about getting great reviews, but was somewhere concerned that my WFH status might go against me.
I had earned a number of detractors at work, who were, needless to say, quite envious of the fact that I was WFH. I quite doubt whether they knew what it was like to grow a person inside you, not knowing the exact status. There was no guarantee of this pregnancy and we were categorically told the same. We were literally taking each moment and each day as it came.
The day of the review arrived. I was all prepped up with my own performance review. What would happen next would probably be classified as intimidation, to put it nicely.
To cut a long story short, I was mildly asked to "take leave and rest".
You mean, resign? Errrm, no. We can't say that, you see? Take leave...
Okay, then!!! This was whambam thank you, ma'am!!
I don't think I was so mad even when I heard the news of an ex getting married.
What a load of ball-less a**holes, these folks! They needed to grow a pair.
I sent out bye bye emails to those who mattered and asked my stuff to be sent back.
I was done.
The bump was now happily replying to our nudging and rubbing, much to our delight. This was super cool, this feeling of being kicked the crap out of you, from inside you!
The extra-curricular and unwomanly activities had been passed on to the correct gender. I was no longer the man of the house!
There's nothing like pregnancy and labour to rob a woman of all her dignity, and I don't mean this in a demeaning and sexist manner. It's the most beautiful and natural thing in this world, but man! does it rid you of BLADDER CONTROL! I mean, whoa! It's worse than guzzling litres of water in a non-pregnant avatar for an ultrasound.
I found myself constantly rushing to the loo, half the time checking behind me if I had left a trail of pee. Whoops!
Anyway..!
The thing with luck is that it's good until it turns bad. Ditto with people, they are great, until they grow horns and flash 666 on their foreheads.
At work, my review was due and I was excited, because I had really been working my ass off in the condition that I was in. I was kicked about getting great reviews, but was somewhere concerned that my WFH status might go against me.
I had earned a number of detractors at work, who were, needless to say, quite envious of the fact that I was WFH. I quite doubt whether they knew what it was like to grow a person inside you, not knowing the exact status. There was no guarantee of this pregnancy and we were categorically told the same. We were literally taking each moment and each day as it came.
The day of the review arrived. I was all prepped up with my own performance review. What would happen next would probably be classified as intimidation, to put it nicely.
To cut a long story short, I was mildly asked to "take leave and rest".
You mean, resign? Errrm, no. We can't say that, you see? Take leave...
Okay, then!!! This was whambam thank you, ma'am!!
I don't think I was so mad even when I heard the news of an ex getting married.
What a load of ball-less a**holes, these folks! They needed to grow a pair.
I sent out bye bye emails to those who mattered and asked my stuff to be sent back.
I was done.
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