Being a mom isn’t for everyone, let alone being a bomb-ass mom. You know what else isn’t for everyone either? Being a mom who eats not only her placenta, but also her pregnancy test. That’s right: I’m special!
Critics of my choice might say that a woman should never eat the placenta or the pregnancy test. That such an act is “disgusting” or “unsafe” or “unnatural.” To them, I’m here to scream: The placenta is a completely natural part of the process and has serious health and emotional benefits, and the pregnancy test is a little stick you piss on that I chose to eat! Yummy!
The spiritual awakening that I experienced when I rammed my piss-soaked, still-hot, positive pregnancy test down my expectant but weirdly dry throat was unlike anything I have ever felt. I swear, I could almost feel my body breaking down the parts and pieces of the plastic equipment that was never meant for human consumption. I felt so connected to my body in that moment! Almost as though I was in a serious medical crisis from eating my pregnancy test, but not, because I wasn’t experiencing the familiar pain of digesting plastic. I was experiencing the pain and the weight of society’s judgment ripping apart my intestines.
It’s the mind-body connection all new mothers have, you know the deal.
Anyway, you know that thing competitive eaters do when they dip their hot dogs in water? Eating my soaking wet pregnancy test was kind of like that. Sure, you don’t need to completely drench a pregnancy test when you’re shooting piss all over it, but when you love your unborn child, you are willing to go the extra mile no matter what. And let me tell you: The nutrients my kid got were out of this world. By eating my pregnancy test, I was able to ensure my little girl got that extra something special. In fact, she came out half robot!
I’m going to level with you. I don’t give a shit if you eat your placenta. Do it, don’t, bury it in the ground and grow a tree from it, or do all three. I really don’t give a shit. However, know that if you don’t ram your p-test down your throat, you are depriving your child of the kind of connection that only a mother, a child, and a 99-cent piece of plastic can share. And what kind of monster would do that? Hopefully not you.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go charge my kid’s batteries. Hah! Kids these days!