This Is Us
Not Like Those Other Pregnant Women
An expecting mother’s notes on identity, transition, and surrender
A few months back, my husband and I were in San Antonio visiting his family for Christmas. At the time, I was about four months pregnant and hadn’t started showing yet. In fact, not much about my life reflected that I was pregnant: I was still going to the gym six days a week; I kept a fast-paced client schedule; my appetite had yet to eclipse my willpower, and so I hadn’t gained any weight. With my first trimester nausea behind me, life was still running like a pretty tight ship.
To be honest, I was a little smug about the minimal impact my pregnancy had made so far. I’d heard so many horror stories of women’s lives coming to a screeching halt the second they became a sacred vessel and was proud that I hadn’t needed to adjust as much. (To be clear, I was attributing this feat solely to my strength of character rather than to hormonal luck or good pregnancy juju.) Clearly, I was not like other pregnant women.
Don’t get me wrong: My husband and I were psyched (well, one part psyched, two parts terrified, which I maintain is a healthy ratio for first-time parents). We’re both mental health professionals, so we knew we’d make a good team and could trust each other to keep chipping…
