Please don’t let this get out. Hoards of pregnant women will come after me bearing sharpened sticks and — seeing as how I was out of shape before pregnancy — it wouldn’t be much of a chase.
I kind of like being pregnant.
Don’t get me wrong: it hasn’t been easy or fun even most of the time. At 18 weeks along, I’m finally starting to get a little bit of energy back (not that I had a lot to begin with), and I’m just now able to eat a vegetable here and there instead of subsisting solely on butter, sugar and pasta. And most days, I feel big as a house and a lot less attractive.
And yet. Being pregnant makes me feel special, like there’s something extraordinary going on with me that no one else understands. I know I’m not breaking any new ground here: women have been having babies since the beginning of time. This is probably the most ordinary thing I could do. But no one has ever grown this special little baby during this moment in time, and no one knows exactly what it feels like day in and day out. I feel a kinship with all women I never felt before, and a closeness with my husband when we look at each other in amazement and say over and over, “we’re having a baby.” Just trying to make it feel real.
So there it is: Something positive and wonderful amongst all the challenges of pregnancy. To all of you who hated being pregnant, who endured the nausea and exhaustion and couldn’t wait for it to be over: believe me, I understand. I hope you don’t want to chase after me with a stick, because I guarantee you can take me. Unless of course, you get between me and a triple chocolate brownie. In that case, watch your back.