pregnancy

One thing I cannot forget was how much I wanted to “get sick.” How I longed to get some sort of ailment or bedridden condition. I cannot forget how I prayed to become ill.

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.

We been made to fear that should we complain, lest it might be snatched from us, should we for even a moment wish we hadn't done this. Some sort of universal karma. A punishment for your lack of gratitude.

Being a work-from-home-mom, I used to kind of loathe summer because it meant balancing activities and still trying to get all my stuff done, but this year is different. I’m allowing myself to take it slow (probably because I have no choice, being 32 weeks pregnant) and enjoy being a mama this summer.

There is actually no way to prepare for parenthood.

I understand that feeling good is far more important than looking good. But it's hard to not get caught up in the frenzy to lose all the baby weight when that's the only thing everyone seems to comment on post-delivery.

I’m not going to lie or sugarcoat my feelings right now — I’m nervous about going from a mom of one to a mom of two. My son is seven, so he, my husband, and I have had seven years of time as “just the three of us.”

My son is, without a doubt, the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. He’s also taught me invaluable lessons about myself that I could have never anticipated.