Member Articles

In the six months that have followed that Mother’s Day surprise, I have been inundated with one unexpected event after another. Seriously, I could write a dissertation on the boobies alone. Sure, I knew that many women had big, brown nipples. I just thought it must have happened that way during puberty. Mine were little and pink, and that’s just how nature made them. It turns out that Mother Nature comes back and does a little revising once there’s a bun in the oven. Now they’re big, brown, and bumpy; and there’s a somewhat uncomfortable amount of hair springing up in the general vicinity. It’s not the only new hair, either, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that just yet . . .

The biggest shocker, though, was the plethora of aches and pains that have accompanied this adventure. How is it possible that in 33 years, no one happened to mention to me that I was going to feel like Liz Taylor looks these days? There are ovarian cysts and round ligament pain and back aches, and charley horses, and all kinds of other stuff. I don’t mean to complain, as I know full well that it’s worth all of the discomfort; but geez. I happen to come from a long line of women, and you’d think one of them would have gotten drunk enough to spill the beans at some point.

Other surprises: Actually feeling a little disappointed when we found out the baby’s sex, having to prohibit any and all scrambled eggs in my home, eating most of a jar of Kalamata olives, and having my mother move in with us. (Do you like how I snuck that last one in?)

Despite all of the surprises that have come with my first pregnancy, I am still so dog-gone excited. Even on the days when I can barely walk due to sciatica, I smile and play tag with the little alien in my belly. (She kicks one spot, I put my hand—or my husband or mom’s—on my stomach, and she kicks somewhere completely different.) I talk to her and make plans for her and daydream about how she’ll have my husband’s chin and my eye color—because I get to decide these things, right? Only three months to go until my baby is in my arms, and no matter how it sounds, I really am treasuring this time we have to get to know each other before I even kiss her little fingers.