Halfway there — what people don’t tell you about being pregnant…
You will stop birth control prematurely because you think you are old and it will take 6 -12 months to get pregnant. You will promptly find yourself pregnant before you think it’s biologically possible, just a few hours after you book that fabulous trip to Istanbul.
You will think you look as shitty as you feel at week 7. You will spend hours debating whether or not to tell your boss or co-workers. Don’t. No one has a clue that you are pregnant.
Morning sickness is a misnomer. It is more like “all-day” sickness — or a 3 month hangover — and there’s nothing you can do to make it go away.
If coffee makes you happy, drink the damn coffee.
Prenatal supplements are as big as your thumb.
You won’t be able think about anything else but the baby 24 hours a day. Meanwhile, your partner is likely still thinking about work, sports, politics, etc. You won’t have anything to talk about.
You will be called a geriatric mom. A genetic counselor will tell you there is a 1 in 5 chance that your baby is not going to be ok. You will freak out and blame yourself for being old and decrepit. Everything will work out, the baby will turn out to have all the correct chromosomes.
You will be thankful that you are a geriatric mom because now you get to find out the sex of your baby really early. You will blurt it out to your partner via a Text Message. You will then learn that he’d rather have been surprised.
You will second guess whether this pregnancy is a good idea. Then, you will feel like a monster for not being ecstatic because everyone else is so happy for you. Hormones fuck you up.
You are going to blow up on your partner about how unfair the current balance of housework is. You will suddenly feel like your previously wonderful, kind, most generous husband has been treating you most grievously all these years. He will have no idea where this came from or how to react. Hormones fuck you up.
You will be constantly out of breath. This will make you sound like Darth Vader. Your friends will anxiously expect you to spontaneously asphyxiate in their living room. They will stop inviting you over.
You will feel tired as shit for the first few weeks — like can’t keep your eyes open at work tired. Like major jet-lag tired.
You will realize just how often you say words like shit and fuck — and start practicing alternative expressions. You will fail.
Your torso will heat up — your partner will stop snuggling up to you.
Your calves will look amazing — they are getting a great workout! You will never get to shaving your legs in order to show them off.
You will fart at the most inappropriate moment in a meeting with your boss. You will be mortified.
You will fart inappropriately again 2 weeks later in a different meeting. You realize you can’t control this.
You will stop giving a damn about what others are thinking about you.
You will pee a little bit every time you cough. You will learn to carry extra underwear around with you.
Prenatal yoga will be your therapy session — no exercise expected. It’s the only safe space to talk about how shitty being pregnant can be.
You are going to look bigger than you expected. You will imagine that everyone is talking about your impressive vastness behind your back. You will then realize no one gives a shit about how big you are.
You will buy 5 new bras on week 12 because nothing fits. By week 20 your boobs will have doubled in size again. You will buy 5 new bras in the larger size because you can’t imagine them getting any bigger. You will be told that you made a mistake.
Doctors, books and apps will talk about time in weeks, but your friends will ask you how many months along you are. 20 weeks sounds like it should be 5 months but 40 weeks is 9 months— that’s way too much fucking math to do while you are busy making a baby.
The egg hasn’t even dropped by the time you are considered to be 3 weeks pregnant. Pregnancy math is worse than P-Zero being higher priority than P-One.
People will ask when you are due. You know that there is only a 12% chance that the baby will come on Dec 5. You will spend an inappropriate amount of time explaining how due dates are nonsensical with the help of a visual aid to anyone who asks. No one else gives a shit about you being accurate — just give them a damn date and move on.
If nutella makes you happy, eat the damn nutella.
Great hair comes with “great hair” everywhere.
You will have that day when you cry for what seems like hours for no reason. Hormones fuck you up.
Even if you never really wanted a kid, it’s pretty darn amazing to feel this little alien parasite kick the shit out of your insides.
You will find yourself drowning in gratitude that you get to experience being pregnant. You will feel at one with the world inside you and around you.
Hormones fuck you up.
What do you wish someone had told you about the first 20 weeks?
