My mom shouldn't read this

and she will <3

I left Orlando Monday, to do a GreenEarth solvent one hour shoot at 9am Tuesday, to be now chatting with y’all from LAX this gloomy Wednesday. After being with my entire family in a stressed state (two social media girlies with microphones), I took a quick breather before my face lady was able to squeeze me in for a microneedling.

My face is now a white, perhaps redheaded child, boy for sure, after a beach vacation. I’m taking this is an important learning moment that no, I don’t always have to be the most fuckable person at the airport. When I notice people look at my face, I assume it’s because redness, and not because they’re picturing my mouth (which now has lip flip Botox scabs) around their dick.

I feel like a spy. I am “ugly” as my disguise. I am growing.

Ironic that I watched The Great Gatsby on my flight over here because WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME WHEN I’M NO LONGER- nvm. I’m having a hot peppermint tea with lemon in an effort to shit before my flight because if I don’t, I just…won’t.

Rob taught me an important lesson I have to constantly remember when I’m with my fam. It came into play when my mother sat in at my face appointment, and while I was TIDDIES OUT (tiddies also got lift scar needled), started on her FUCKING SHIT (also btw NicoleMyMom is my most guaranteed Substack reader) DARED to bring up my FUCKING EGGS. AGAIN.

During wedding planning, I chose, and I am not kidding, to put my egg fund toward our 250 person wedding. In that moment I also decided, I am not LIVING IN SCARCITY. No bad news ~about my eggs~ is GOOD NEWS.

I will get creampied until I’m pregnant and if I don’t get pregnant, I will adopt a fucking baby.

You know why? Because I just KNOW in my witchy little woman heart, that the stress, hormones, and bullshit, is not worth it FOR ME. It may be for you! That is great! And that could change. Maybe I’ll be 40 and be like yank whatever eggs I got ASAP. Until then, stfu.

Nicole knows this.

She knows it.

Rob knows it. He once said, “great news! IVF if covered by insurance.”

He thought IVF was a set of pills. Pills!? I did educate him, and he no longers things it’s a bottle of pills. Have you ever known me to not jump at an opportunity to take pills??

IVF is like my 13th option okay?

So while I’m covered in numbing with my scarred breasts fully out, my mom says, “Oh this incredible doctor said he would do a consult for you! He’s the number one fertility guy.”

I “no sell” (wrestling term for like, ignoring getting punched) it. I don’t say shit.

My face (and boob lady I guess) chimes in, “oh are you going to do that??”

This is the exact lady who told me she did fertility treatment for her first two babies and then GOT PREGNANT BY MISTAKE AFTER.

Bitch you’re the poster child for NOT doing it.

I wanted to hurl my topless and creamed up body at my openly very socially inept mother.

She went on.

“You know, they can test for autism.”

You’d think my mom was Jenny McCarthy at this point, by how much she seems to be anti-autism.

I reminded her, for the 3291th time, that there is for sure something not normal with her. And my husband is on the spectrum, and our baby will be on the spectrum. And that I am just going to try to get raw dogged for a year.

NicoleAutistic then asks me about the swingers resort and about my gayness.

Which is, according to her, passed from the mother’s side.

I’m not not gay, and I’m not not neurodivergent. And I do do blame my parents.

I will now chug some red wine to encourage a bowel movement.

Xoxo,

Auntie

(ok it’s not that bad, but I’m also wearing glasses bc I ran out of left eye prescription contacts today)