Confessions of a Pregnant Woman

After the same ad kept reappearing on my Facebook feed almost daily, I decided to click the “hide” option. It wasn’t just that it continued to pop up on my feed that irritated me—I also couldn’t stand what it said.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being pregnant,” the sponsored ad said, “but it isn’t always a walk in the park.”

What was it about that line that got under my skin so much? Well, what if you don’t “love being pregnant?” I thought to myself. Why do you need to caveat that you love being pregnant before talking about uncomfortable changes and aches to your body? What is it that makes us as women feel like we have to say we love being pregnant, whether we do or not? Like we’re some monster if we scream from the rooftop,


Clearly, that must mean that you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be pregnant in the first place, let alone experience the miracle of life at the end of the 40 long weeks.

Maybe the woman in the post truly loves being pregnant. I know those mythical creatures exist. I’m, however, not one of them.

While I had next to zero complaints or problems during my first pregnancy—until of course the very end when no one in their right mind can be comfortable that size—I still hated it. I hated the feeling of being out of control of my body as it changed in ways I could never imagine. I hated feeling like I was sharing my body with someone, but most of the time it felt more like something.

“When he starts to kick, it will feel real to you, and you’ll love it,” friends told me.

I must admit, when it happened I was legitimately freaked out. Was this a baby inside me or an alien? Only time would tell.

With this pregnancy, I thought surely I would feel differently. Now that I’ve confirmed that it was not in fact an alien and experienced the joy of my son, I thought for sure I wouldn’t feel like I had a foreign visitor inside of me this time.


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Stephanie Rubyor managed to make me forget about the stretch marks and discomfort long enough to feel beautiful, and dare I say, glowing in my maternity session.

I still feel weird about it. And it’s not just that. This pregnancy hasn’t been an easy go around. Perhaps it’s the old wives tale of girl vs boy, but my first trimester was wrought with morning sickness and exhaustion not to mention enough tears to fill the Atlantic Ocean. I’m also not one of those women who feels the most beautiful she’s ever felt when she’s pregnant. You’ve heard of those people, right? You know, the ones who are glowing.

I’m here to tell you that passing gas without so much as a two second warning or peeing a little when you sneeze are about the last things that make you feel sexy.

Oh, and remember that blog post I wrote bidding farewell to my voluptuous breasts when I stopped nursing? Well, they’re back. In full force. And don’t even get me started on what my nipples look like.

So why am I putting myself through this again, you ask? You see, the thing is, it really is all worth it in the end. The moment you see your baby for the first time tops my list as the most incredible moment in my life. Bringing Baby A into this world is my proudest accomplishment, and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to do it again in just a few months when we meet our baby girl for the first time. (Someone remind me of this post when I’m several hours into labor hating life and wanting to give up, okay?)

I love the end result, but I’ll be damned if I tell you that I love being pregnant.


To the stepmom bringing home her first baby…

I see you holed up in the dark nursery with your tiny newborn and sore nipples, learning how to breastfeed. You don’t have the option to sit and let it all hang out on your comfy couch in front of the TV like other new moms because you have a teenage stepson and that’s just weird.

I see you biting your tongue and clenching your fists every time your step kids want to hold your tiny, fragile bundle of joy. Did they wash their hands? Why do they need to hold him at all? Don’t breathe in his face! Don’t touch his face! Only touch his feet!

I see you guzzling down the diet soda as you figure out dinner not just for you and your husband, but for your growing stepchildren too. You wonder what it would be like to only have the stress that comes with a new baby instead of also feeling the weight of managing a household of six—the meals, the basketball games, the laundry.

Postpartum hormones alone are enough to make a woman feel overwhelmed, but throw in the complicated feelings of a blended family, and that is MORE than enough to make a woman feel completely CRAZY.

I am here to tell you that you are not crazy. You are going to feel a lot of different emotions when you bring your baby home from the hospital. Some of these feelings may even come as a surprise to you because you have a positive relationship with your stepchildren. You may feel like you walked into the hospital to give birth feeling one way about them and walked out hours (or days!!) later feeling a completely different way toward them.

You may not feel like sharing your baby. That’s okay. You may also be mourning the life you thought you would have – you know, the one where you get married and experience parenthood for the first time with your partner. It’s okay to be sad that he’s already done this before.

But mama, it will get easier. Your hormones will gradually level out. Your baby will become sturdier, and when you’re ready, you’ll let others hold him so that you can do things like brush your teeth and wash your hair. Now that’s a benefit most new mamas don’t have! Oh, and remember how you were sad that your husband has done this before? Now you are thankful that you have a partner who already knows what to do and is comfortable with a teensy tiny baby.

Not only will you start to find a groove, but you’ll also find sweet moments of joy. When your stepson makes your baby giggle like no one else can. When you find your 11-year-old stepdaughter is more nurturing than you ever knew. When your 14-year-old stepdaughter steps up and shows leadership. When they fight over whose turn it is to change the baby’s diaper or help with his bath. When you’re all on the floor, cheering him on as he takes his first steps. When they come home from their bio-mom’s house and can’t wait to see their baby brother.

I won’t lie to you. Blended families are no joke. It can be a lot to juggle, especially when bringing a tiny human into the mix. But I am finding that in between the moments of chaos, they can also be wonderful. The bond between siblings transcends DNA and in our case, a several year age gap, and it really is something special to witness.

So hang in there, Mama Bear. You’ve got this.


My farewell to breastfeeding

Dear Double D’s,

You should win an award for best disappearance act. You left as quickly as you came—seemingly overnight.

We had a good run. Nearly two years, in fact. I remember the first time I saw you. I did a double take that morning in the bathroom mirror. Are my boobs bigger? I must be imagining things, I thought to myself. When I saw two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I knew I wasn’t.

Over the next nine months, I watched you enlarge several cup sizes. For the first time in my life, I experienced what it was like to have Victoria’s Secret-sized breasts.

“Enjoy them now!” People said. “Some day they’ll shrivel up like mine did after kids!”

We went through an adjustment period after the baby arrived. You were sore as Baby A tried to figure out how to latch. It took several visits to the lactation consultants and an ample amount of nipple butter, but we finally figured it out.

That first month, it felt like all I did was breastfeed. Hours never went by so quickly and yet so slowly before in my life.

It took a while for you to regulate your flow. The first night Baby A slept 12 hours—the only night he slept that long until he was 10-months-old—I was awake pumping because you were hard as rocks and about to burst. It also seemed I was leaking everywhere. I found breast milk in random places all over our house. Crusty white spots on our leather sofa, even where I hadn’t sat but had apparently walked by naked at some point. Getting in and out of the shower was a feat in and of itself. I raced in after undressing while you sprayed milk all over the bathroom floor. With force like that, I could become a volunteer firefighter.

My goal was to make it one month nursing Baby A. That was the amount of time I had read was most beneficial for the baby.

“You may enjoy it,” people told me.

I faked a smile and said, “Yeah, maybe.” There was no scenario in which I could ever imagine enjoying breastfeeding. Just thinking about it made me uncomfortable.

When we reached one month, however, we were in a groove. You adjusted to just the right amount Baby A needed, and when he slept longer stretches, I didn’t need to pump anymore. I decided to keep going until six months.

Six months came and went. You were still coming through for us—producing the right amount for Baby A. You were a reliable companion and gladly came along with us wherever we went. I loved the convenience of not having to prepare or wash bottles. We were all happy with our arrangement so I decided to continue to the one-year mark.

But just after Baby A turned 9-months-old, our relationship hit an unexpected rough patch. I suffered a bout of food poisoning that was on par with childbirth pains, and due to severe dehydration, your milk production took a serious hit.

I hung on to Baby A’s nighttime feeding for a few more weeks, but I knew I was delaying the inevitable. There wasn’t enough in there for my growing boy. I broke into the freezer stash I had so diligently pumped while on maternity leave, and soon, I started adding in formula.

It’s been two weeks since Baby A has nursed, and today I looked in the mirror to see that you are gone too. In your place, are two freakishly small breasts—more like chicken nuggets—that I don’t even recognize. So much for my Victoria’s Secret modeling dream.

Although our end was abrupt, I want you to know that I’ll always cherish the time we spent together. Even more so, I’ll treasure the bond you created between Baby A and me.


Mama Nuggets