One of the things nobody tells you before you get pregnant is that you can't dye your own hair.
There’s like this secret pact made by mothers—where they don’t tell you everything that sucks until you’re actually expecting. When I told a select group of friends we were trying to have a baby, everyone raved about how awesome it is to be pregnant. “Oh, you’ll love it!” they said. I smiled and nodded through my skepticism.
It was only once i saw the little pink plus sign that honesty began. Then I got all this “empathy” (read: an excuse for them to kvetch about their own experiences) and EVERY topic from nipple cream to gory delivery room details became fair game. On top of that, once people see the protruding belly (and the maternity top that confirms you’re not just fat) all there is to discuss is pregnancy and motherhood. And suddenly everyone has the right to touch my stomach??
I always swore up and down I was never having kids. I’m too independent. I love traveling and staying up all night and sleeping late on the weekends. I’m a writer—self-absorbed, moody; preferring to spend my free time among fictional characters. I don’t do screaming or crying or cleaning up after myself, much less anyone else. Yet somehow I’d convinced myself that wanting to be a mother was selfish.
I’m in for a world of hurt in July. There’s got to be some sort of gray area, doesn’t there?
So, I’ve decided to spend my Saturday evening ignoring my pregnancy. NOT in a way that’s harmful to my child. I just want to feel like me for a little while; the person I am until the screaming and crying and lack of sleep sets in. Only me with glamorous hair and waxed eyebrows. Don’t get me started on the eyebrows.
About the author: Dannie Morin is a YA author & a licensed psychotherapist in Charlotte, NC. She tweets as @DC_Morin & sporadically blogs at dcmorin.blogspot.com.
