What Not To Expect When You’re Expecting
Ladies, we all know What to Expect When You’re Expecting: disease, disfigurement, dismemberment, oh my! Wait, this isn’t that book. This is not about what you should expect as a preggo, but rather, what you shouldn’t expect. Hitch up your belly and gather ”˜round, because s**t’s about to get real.
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Repeat after me: ”No, you can’t touch my stomach. Or belly. Or bump.” For some reason, the moment you see that second pink line on the pee stick, your body becomes public property. As time goes on it gets worse, with strangers approaching you palm-first and even friends and relatives losing all sense of decorum.
How to handle this: Work on your bitchy resting face. It’s the only weapon you have.
2. Dignity.
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Somehow, portrayals of our pregnant sisthren in the media are elegant and graceful, glowing and serene. This”¦does not represent my reality. You know how it feels when you have a huge backpack on and you forget that it’s there, and then you’re knocking shit over and smacking people with your backpack? It’s like that, but with a part of your body, which is both awkward and mortifying. You don’t fit where you think you should, and all those years of trying to ”grow into your height” are for naught.
How to handle this: You can’t. Or, at least, I can’t. Your best hope is to keep breakable heirlooms away from the edges of tables. Bonus: this is good practice for when your Tiny Godzilla starts destroying everything you ever loved.
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When my sister was nearing the end of her first pregnancy, she complained about not being able to sleep. The doctor kindly patted her on the knee and said, ”It’s easier to take care of them on the inside than on the outside.” If I could, I would travel back in time and pop that doctor right in the nose. He (Of course it was somebody who had never been pregnant. Of course it was.) may have been right – taking care of a newborn sucks balls. But at least then you might be able to enlist the help of whoever got you pregnant in the first place. Or take advantage of our country’s incredibly generous* maternity leave policies and catch up on sleep at odd hours. Or pass baby off on a hapless neighbor for fifteen minutes while you catnap. There is a special kind of crappiness in pre-birth non-sleep, filled with thousands of trips to the toilet and – if you’re lucky! – ”practice” contractions that exist solely to make you miserable. Oh, and don’t forget you can’t lay on your back. Or stomach. Or right side, if you believe the hype. Or left side, because you are sure you’re getting bedsores from laying in one position for so many months.
How to handle this: Bed pillows? Sleep on a cloud? Your guess is as good as mine. Pregnancy sucks.
*Did I say generous? I mean draconian.
4. Dry underwear
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Um, sorry to have to be the one to break this news to you, but you might start pissing your pants. A lot. Or maybe you have your bladder under control, but, as a doctor gently put it to me, ”some people just have increased discharge.”
How to handle this: You should probably buy yourself a box of Maxi pads. Bonus: putting on a ”feminine product” in the form of an adult diaper de-ja-vues you right back to junior high school. Who wouldn’t want to be transported back to junior high school? Oh wait, everybody.
5. Dry shirts
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Hey-ohhhh! Leaking nipples are the best! Except not the best, the worst. I don’t know exactly why lactation is so very, very embarrassing, but let me tell you – it is. Some people don’t have dribbling nipples during pregnancy, but the more pregnancies I have (okay, I’ve had two, so maybe it’s not a scientific study), the worse it gets.
How to handle this: They make diapers for your boobs, which make you feel super attractive. Not that it matters, though, because you’ve already lost all your dignity, and you’re probably wearing Depends, so might as well diaper your entire body. Also, black shirts are useful in hiding the wetness, but I can’t be responsible for that slightly sweet, slightly sour milk smell. That’s all you.
6. Independence.
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Part of being a pregnant lady means that some people are going to do things like open the door for you and treat you like you can’t possibly manage simple tasks on your own. It’s nice? I guess? But it feels very condescending and patronizing, and for f**k’s sake it’s a door, I can open it. Don’t worry, though, people stop doing that as soon as you are trying to juggle ten pounds of baby and thirty pounds of carseat while losing an alarming (to me) amount of lochia daily and dealing on 0.001 hours of sleep. No no no, the pregnant woman can’t open the door! But new moms, you’re on your own.
How to handle this: I suppose the gracious thing to do would be to smile sweetly and say thank you. Good on you if you can manage it.
7. Independence, part II.
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There will be things you legitimately can’t do on your own and it is embarrassing. I’m talking about putting on and taking off your boots. Both of my pregnancies ended in the winter, and you can contort your body all you want, but eventually you’re going to have to break down and ask for help. Don’t forget: you’re a strong, independent woman. Who can’t put on her own shoes.
How to handle this: Be pregnant in the summer.
8. Sympathy.
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Sure, you’ll get sympathy, but you’ll get the wrong kind of sympathy. People will open doors for you and then heat up fish in the microwave right next to you. I’m not saying that everybody should always act only with you in mind, but the fact is, there are going to be things that make you feel really, truly terrible, and those are things that many people will forget to think about.
How to handle this: Lock yourself in your room and don’t come out until you’re done being pregnant.
9. A good attitude.
Just me? Okay then, carry on.
10. Perspective.
This is probably the worst part of pregnancy, and I’m not talking about all that ”This is a miracle,” ”Cherish the time” bullshit. There’s a feeling towards the end of pregnancy that is like the end of a marathon: You know in your head that at some point it’s going to end. But in your heart your life stretches out ahead of you; pregnant forever, unable to put on your own boots or turn your body without knocking some glass off of a table, never able to sleep on your back or stomach or sides, never able to just have a bottle or two of wine because you goddamned feel like it. The state that you’re in is the state that you’ll always be in, and life will never be normal again.
How to handle this: Listen carefully it does get back to normal. It takes a long time and there are truly terrible aspects to post-pregnancy bodily functions and caring for a squalling newborn, but normalcy eventually wins out. I promise.
But be warned, though – for some of us, the bad attitude thing sticks.
