A Pregnant Womans Guide to Dealing with Pregnant Women

This was my first article with OrganicGreenMommy.com. It's a great site, check it out!

I am once again shocked at the utter lack of tact that people seem to have when dealing with a pregnant woman. Perhaps it's a silent virus that causes all sense of right and wrong to drip out your ear when exposed to too much progesterone. It's becoming more and more surprising that women even want to have kids based on all of the wonderful things they hear while pregnant. Before I was pregnant, when my hormones were stable, my ego was strong and I still had control of my body, if I complained of something (anything) people would respond with a positivity and optimism. "Don't worry, you're smart, you're strong, you'll figure something out. Everything will be fine. Don't fret, it's just temporary."

Then my uterus became home to a quick growing, constantly moving tiny human, and suddenly things change. Now when I tell people how I am, grey clouds of doom gather overhead as they prepare their prenatal fire and brimstone responses.

"How you doing, Dina?"

"I'm good, just super tired." (Grey clouds sweep in from all sides, a-la the movie Twister. I have to squint as the wind picks up, whipping my maternity shirt).

"Well you'd better get used to it, it's not like you're going to sleep once the baby gets here.

This is a little sampling of what I've heard this week. I'll never have sex with my husband again. My dreams of going back to the gym after the baby are as likely to happen as winning the lottery. Any vaginal strength I might still have (why my va-jay-jay is a topic of conversation, I don't know, but that might need to be a totally different post) will be pushed out with the placenta, leaving me to a life of Poise pads and soiled panties. Following the birth, my nipples will dry out like a desert mesa, leaving them cracked and seeping. My stomach will be loose enough to tuck into my panties, perhaps saving some money on Poise pads, there's a plus. At some point, my hair will fall out in clumps, leaving me standing in the shower wondering if I'm starring in a horror movie. I might not bond with my baby. The baby will probably be covered with lesions and only have one giant Cyclops eye. Alright, now I'm getting out of control, but I'm pretty sure that you get my point now.

Let's just point out now that the entire world runs on the fact that women are stronger than any man-made metal could dream of being. We bleed for a week, each month, for about 35 years and basically put the vaginal equivalent of a band-aid on it and keep going. A man gets a headache and is in bed for three days. Through the years, we've hunted with our men, plowed paths across continents, fought for equal rights, kept factories going during war, drenched our hands in blood to save others, brought babies into this world, helped soldiers leave it peacefully and now stand in the front lines defending our country. And all the while, we've cleaned the house, made dinner, fed the dog, washed the car, made the grocery list, sent birthday cards, wiped runny noses, changed dirty diapers, paid the bills, brought lasagna to a sick friend, drove Gramma to the doctor, coordinated soccer, ballet, football, graduations, birthday parties and slumber parties. Oh, and we've managed to produce every person on the planet, carrying them through the nine months of pregnancy and caring for them until we die.

Jeekers people, do you think that this is the appropriate time to suddenly decide that the honest truth needs to be heard? For crying out loud, what I think all pregnant women want to hear is soft and loving, supportive affirmations against what they fear the most. We're hormonal, we're tired, we have sublet our bodies out and all we want is a verbal hug.

Do I know I can do it? Yes. Do I know it's going to be hard? Of course I do, I'm not a stupid girl. But do I want to hear about how hard it's going to be and how much the odds are stacked against me? Hell to the naw! I'm the size of a house, my feet look like those of the boneless humans in Wall-E, I can't remember the last time I've seen my hootie, I'm hormonal and I've developed an addiction to anything that is primarily high fructose corn syrup. I want to be coddled for a little bit!

Thank God, Buddha and the Great Mother Earth Goddess for my husband. While everyone around me tosses out gems of destruction and doom, my husband has been the superman I've always know he is. He smiles and tells me that the only place I've gotten bigger is my stomach (ah, even though I know it's a lie, it still feels good to hear it), that we're going to be fine, that I'm the strongest thing he knows for doing what I'm doing, that I'm beautiful and smart. I'm going to get back into my pre-baby shape, my vagina is going to go back to normal, and my stomach is never going to look like a deflated balloon.

At least I'm getting love from somewhere.