Somebody smack me
I was in Babies R Us this afternoon, picking up a swing and a second bouncy seat. Being a Saturday afternoon, there were plenty of pregnant women and couples shopping and setting up gift registries. I watched them in their cute maternity wear, debating carseats and cribs. And the following thought popped into my head:
Aww, I miss being pregnant.
NO! No, that’s just not true! Has the famed/dreaded hormonal amnesia hit me, too? I swore it never would. On balance, I hated being pregnant. I was uncomfortable, sleep-deprived (ha!), irritable, and anxious.
And, honestly, it’s not that I actually miss it. I don’t miss the physical reality of being pregnant, nor do I miss the stress that came along with it. It’s more a nostalgia with regard to the anticipation of being pregnant. The excitement, wondering what is to come. It’s the same way I get a little glazed over when talking to people who are graduating from college or planning their wedding. I wouldn’t really go back to that point, because getting to now is entirely what then was about. I’d never in a million years give back my beautiful (albeit fussy) babies to be pregnant again. But there’s certainly something exciting about being on the brink of a major life change. And once you get to that new place, it’s never easy or perfect, so it’s easier to romanticize what led up to it.
I’ll admit, though… I really did love maternity clothes. Hell, I’m still wearing some. But this, too, shall pass.
And you can be damn sure I’m going on at least one form of birth control at my six-week checkup. Irish twins/triplets/quads, my ass.
