First, let me just say that I am not pregnant, nor am I planning on becoming pregnant in the near future. There are still a few happy DINK (dual-income-no-kids) years on the horizon for the Hubbster and me. But it is on the life agenda to pop out a couple of kids that bear an uncanny resemblance to one or both of us (or to an old man. I love old man babies). I’m also a naturally curious person, and I love worrying about/trying to plan things that are either a) way in the future or b) completely out of my control. And ding ding ding, being pregnant is both of them. So when I’m really bored and looking at the ‘everything’ page on Pinterest (as I often am), I will once in a while click on a link relating to pregnancy. And I’m always sorry.
I have done this several times in the last few weeks, and was incredibly terrified by what I found. Seriously. There are a lot of really scary stories out there. And I figured if there’s anyone that can really tell me all the things I have to dread, it’s the woman who gave me all the chromosomes I need to make another human being in the first place. So when my lovely mother and I sat down to sip our coffee in Caribou this weekend, I freaked out and opened a flood gate of ridiculous questions.
My mother: “Um, no.”
My mother: “No!”
Then she did the mom finger-shake and told me I need to stop reading the internet. And then she ranted about how for some reason, whenever you tell someone you’re pregnant they feel the need to share all of their horror stories. But she loved every minute of it. When I insisted that something crazy had to have happened to her body, she replied with “Nope. I just got fat.”
And that is why I love my mother.
And I do need to stop reading the pregnancy-related internet. But let’s face it. I’m me, so I probably won’t.