Pregnancy is weird. A tiny human is growing inside of me, kicking and squirming with increasing strength. My stomach is ballooning outward and I’m only just beginning to accept that I’ll soon be taking time off of work to raise my child. All-in-all, it’s my weirdest experience yet.
But I am trying to enjoy the experience – with the determination that’s usually reserved for last minute work or brainstorming sessions.
I’m learning to be open to the fact that people like to discuss my weight-gain, or remind me that “you’ll never sleep again”. I can deal with the use of moronic words, like preggo, wifey, and hubby – if only to appease those around me. I can accept the free advice – because at the end of the day this is my pregnancy.
I want to vent about how angry people make me when they bring up my weight, size, shape, or behaviour – but then… I stop and realize that it doesn’t really matter. People are going to say ridiculous things – they’re going to draw attention to a pregnant woman’s body, hormones, or attitude to fulfill some need of their own. There’s not much I can do about that. I can argue, or I can go enjoy the ice cream I’m craving in peace.
I love my growing belly. Despite the fact that people keep telling me that ‘it’s way too small’, I’ve gained a steady and healthy amount of weight. I will continue to grow over the next 14 weeks, so I’m sure to reach my expected size sooner or later. I’m uncomfortable, but I see this growing belly as a sign of something great. A future. A new life. An act of motherhood.
I may not love every moment of pregnancy, but this is my reality. This is my life and I don’t want to waste it worrying or explaining myself. I am changing; I am not just growing on the surface.