WARNING: If you are under 18 years of age, please leave now, as this is a pretty raunchy story

Before Tommy and I had our son Jackson, I would ask my friends Kimberly & Aisha about their experiences with pregnancy, newborns, and life in general. I thought if I just asked enough questions I would be prepared for what was to come, ready to deal with the ups and downs of being a new parent. It was a perfect plan! Except for one minor detail:

KIMBERLY AND AISHA ARE LIARS.

No, I'm not over exaggerating at all. (Well, maybe just a tad. But still!). From the remedies for heart burn to the irreversible damage done to my sweet, little you-know-what, very rarely did they tell me the honest truth. I now know that everything was a shade of truth with generous doses of creative lying. There seems to be this cult of women who are scared to tell the real truth about most important time in your life, so I'm here to fix that crao. Anyone who knows me know I don't sugar coat the truth or minimize reality. What I am about to tell you is 100% true. You can choose to believe me, or lie to yourself and say it isn't the truth in your case, but at the end of the day you'll all have a better insight into what it really is like to 'become a mother'.

The first lie we love to tell:

1. Pregnancy is a beautiful, magical time!

This is a flat-out lie. I have never been more miserable than when I was pregnant. It started out with sickness, moved in to constant urination, continued with violent internal outbursts from my clearly possessed child, pushed onward to heartburn, and ended with me pooping on a table. Put some Mickey ears on me and call this vacation because I am DONE! Why in the world would anyone call pregnancy magical? I mean, getting the little dude in there was magical. I'm willing to bet I was twisted in some Cirque de Soleil moves during that romp. However, from the moment my genetics and the Hubs shook hands, it was as if a really shady rental agreement was taken out on my body and Reefside's Worst Tenant parked his a$$ down in my belly, ready to make the next 9 months as bad as humanly possible. Sure, to the outside world I looked glowing. But guess what? I was trying to hold in a fart. Pregnancy farts are toxic. No one told you? Why am I not surprised? People commented on how cute my belly looked. I almost fell in to the lie of telling people how wonderful it all was! And then Jackson would kick me so hard in the cervix I would buckle over, piss myself a little, and fart a little. As I entered the later stages of pregnancy, it only got worse. Around the time that it became 100% impossible for me to see my vagina, I realized that my entire body was a fucked as Jenny McCarthy after she jumped on the anti-vaccine bandwagon. From back on, I looked like a loaf of bread. Gone were the days of a sexy curved waist, smooth skin, and a flawless complexion. At seven months pregnant, I was being ravaged by hateful little pregnancy hormones.

The second lie we tell:

The delivery will hurt but once you see that baby's face it will be all worth it!

The baby is awesome, but I wouldn't say it's worth the pain. Don't get me wrong – I love my son and wouldn't give him up for anything – but it's 2014, People! Can't we find a better way to get these little ones out? Saying that babies are worth the pain like saying that severing your own arm with a butter knife is worth the drop in weight. Seriously, something so precious shouldn't burst in to your life under such hateful circumstances. With Jackson, I was put on bedrest for a week for a stupid reason and forced to go through an induction. I know, I know – tell me how it is easier when you go when nature intended – doesn't mean jack to me. It all hurts no matter how they come out. When I was given the drugs to induce they ended up over stimulating my uterus, resulting in my body wanting to go through three contractions in a row before I had a break. As I sat there, trying not to vomit up my own tongue, the nurses kept telling me to walk. "Walk! Walk! Get that baby really low! Keep walking!". Screw you and your walking! If you could picture the worst diarrhea cramp in the universe, mix that with extreme fatigue and hunger, then mix in the feeling of your insides attempting to explode out of your body at any moment. Now walk! Let's toss in a husband trying to touch you while you sway and curse in the hospital hallway and you have a fucking party. On a good day I hate being touched when I am in any type of pain, but during labor the touch of my husband felt like being cuddled by Rob Ford. I hated it. HATED IT. After I finally vomited all of my popsicle out during a particularly hard contraction, I was finally offered a epidural. The one shining moment of labour! It didn't hurt that the anesthesiologist had THE BEST moustache I have ever seen. For a brief time I managed to sleep, only awakened when someone decided it was time to dig around in my vagina. Another thing I learned that day was an adult female can actually go elbow deep inside my vag. You mothers know what I'm talking about. The moment you realize that little cervix check is actually the doctor giving the baby his first real hug, you know your under carriage is forever fucked. As the turned off my magical medicine drip ( . .) and I started to push, I never realized it would be hours before I was done.

This third lie should die a fiery death:

Your body knows what to do! It'll snap back in no time!

See this? See this middle finger? This is for you, you bunch of lying jerks. My poor, poor body. The body that I never really appreciated until it was gone. The things that pregnancy and child-birth does to a body seems like a cruel, sick joke. As I lay there after being totally violated by a vacuum, cuddling my prehistoric lizard baby, I was relieved to finally get my body back. The heart burn that haunted me for months was instantly gone. My bladder let out a sigh of relief, and my back already felt better. However, no one sees your insides. No one cares about your insides. No one tries to stuff their insides in to a pair of skinny jeans on the rare occasion that they get to escape the house.

After the first day I knew my breasts were shot. They had grown ENORMOUS from the milk building up. My nipples took on a life of their own. Even the most dense person could have guessed that the limits of stretching were being met and eventually, like all things forced to uncomfortable limits, they would sag like the face of a Real Housewife. The skin on my belly no longer had that tight, youthful feel. It now looked and felt like a bowl of risen bread dough. Even now, after almost four years after delivering Jackson, the texture of my stomach is odd. I'm sure there are some out there who spring back, but not all of us. Not all of us will return to our old body. Stop lying and start telling the truth!

Be kind be caring be kinky

A little side note since this post has gone viral: I do, in fact, love my son. He really is the best thing that has happened to me. Before you send me a ridiculous comment telling me how I'm going to hell, stop yourself. You may want to use your valuable time teaching your child about humour and satire. I'll worry about how to be an awesome mother to my kid and a windy wife to my husband :D