About Your Privacy on this Site Welcome! To bring you the best content on our sites and applications, Meredith partners with third party advertisers to serve digital ads, including personalized digital ads.
Rachel Mcginn Photography On a warm June morning, I typed at my laptop, sipped my iced latte, and paused. The realization came unbidden: I came back to the office and peed on the little stick in a stall of the first floor bathroom, the one that was nearly always empty.
I waited a few minutes, idly scrolled through Instagram and thought about what to make for dinner that evening. Then I stared at the faint pink plus sign, and sat down on the toilet. I spent the rest of the day feeling slightly numb, like I had just heard life-changing news about somebody else—except, it was me.
With a real, live baby? I played around with the idea of not telling anyone, The joys of being pregnant even my husband, for a couple of days. Tests could be wrong, I told myself as I drove home.
I wanted us to at least have a good story. I took another test. I handed him the card and he raised his eyebrows. I stood at the kitchen counter with my arms crossed. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I handed him the two pregnancy tests, both positive.
As an almost-married, heterosexual, middle-class woman at the ripe old age of almost thirty, I was supposed to be stoked to be pregnant. And ladies, like everything else, we are offered two extremes on a silver platter. The baby is now your main objective, your highest priority, your be-all and end-all, your source of passion and focus and interest.
You feel resentment, frustration, fear, sadness or anxiety—basically, anything less than electrified to grow a baby, you know, inside of you—which means that something must be wrong.
Maybe you received poor parenting as a kid; maybe your mom was never really around. Maybe your biological makeup is straight up faulty, or your relationship is falling apart behind the scenes. I loved to travel and drink whiskey and sip strong espresso and practice hot yoga and run 10ks and curse.
Motherhood registered as a foreign event, something that happened to other, more grown-up, women: I viewed parenthood as something that would happen eventually, but not anytime soon.
I loved to travel and drink whiskey and sip strong espresso and practice hot yoga and run 10ks and curse I still do! Part of me wanted to play the role of the dutiful pregnant woman.
What can I say?
I tried to remain open to unsolicited advice, eager to trade opinions about epidurals versus natural births, thrilled to discuss diaper brands. I understood that the topic of pregnancy was considered low-hanging conversational fruit for women, just as the subjects of wedding planning and engagement tend to be, and I realized that most people meant well and brought it up as a show of interest and support.
I wanted the baby to be healthy, I tried to practice self-care whenever possible, and I hoped for the best. But my lack of interest in dissecting the details led to growing shame and guilt.
Was I going to be a bad mom? Would something happen to my kid as punishment from the universe for not being grateful enough for this experience? Why did I get pregnant, when so many other women I knew desperately wanted to be in my shoes right now?
Are you house hunting? How long will you stay home after the baby comes?
Have you had any cravings? Should you be drinking coffee? How much weight have you gained?The Joys of Being a Woman in Norway “This year my colleague did something really bitchy to us: she got pregnant” says the guy sitting across the dinner table in my French New Year’s Eve I almost choked on my slice of camembert.
Pregnancy Stories: Real Women Share the Joys, Fears, Thrills, and Anxieties of Pregnancy from Conception to Birth [Cecelia A. Cancellaro] on benjaminpohle.com *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.
A collection of stories by and about pregnant women traces . “I have worked hard on being a positive person. I want to reflect and be grateful for all of the beauty that I have experienced this past year. You’re so ignorant. It’s perfectly reasonable to hate being a mom and hate being a stay at home mom.
Every aspect of that is miserable. You’re stuck at home with a child, lose all aspects of socialization, sign your life over to a screaming, whining infant. The Asian Leopard Cat and Domestic Cat Cross.
Bengals originated from crossbreeding or mixing domestic cats with the wild Asian leopard cat or Prionailurus bengalensis (a type of small wildcat or jungle cat).
The purpose of this breeding was to obtain a cat with the disposition of a domesticated cat but with the wild and crazy markings of the Asian leopard cat.
Kat Von D is thrilled to be pregnant with her first child. But who is her husband Leafar Seyer? Here’s why the ‘cholo goth’ artist, singer and author should be on your radar.
Kat Von D,