I really hate being pregnant.

I don’t love being pregnant. For most of the first and third trimester, I don’t even like it.

I feel like I am my worst-possible self when I am pregnant. The foundation of these feelings are extreme fatigue and constant nausea paired with confusing, unrelenting hunger and irrational tendencies. I’m like a hungry, hungover, bloated, petty teenager. Really, I am the worst!

And it is only the first trimester!

This is why we usually hide away until we can do the big reveal at three months. We aren’t acting like our ‘normal,’ ‘rational,’ ‘socially-appropriate’ selves. Rather, we are acting like a recluse who was just forced to chaperone a 30-hour fast at the high school while being fuelled solely by ginger ale and coffee.

But not too much coffee. Only two cups a day.

I will just hope for a gentler second trimester. You know, when you have enough energy to fold the laundry instead of staring at it on a chair for a week. Not to mention you look ‘cute pregnant’ without all the ‘whoa! Due any day huh?’ comments. And people love pregnant ladies, they have value in society! So you get special treatment like cutting lines when you are holding something heavy, or getting help out to your car with that large awkward pack of paper towels.  You feel like one of the beautiful people who gets special treatment, but without the bikini wax or happy hour, and everyone thinks its OK to touch your belly.

The second trimester helps me forget that I hate being pregnant and carries me through to the third where there is an actual end in sight. The third trimester is marked by the ever-growing pillow nest that slowly takes over your  bed. It doesn’t matter though, because you have spotty sleep and wake up every three hours to pee, binge eat ice cream, and toss back a Tums chaser. 

Either way, I am not a fan of pregnancy. Just of the end result. I won’t sugar coat it; if you ask me how I’m feeling, I will tell you, in detail, until you stop me at maternity underwear and itchy boobs.  

So come talk to me in about seven more months when I’m weird, weepy and tired but holding the world’s next cutest most smart human being to ever live in the history of living.  

I’m pretty sure I’ll have some pregnancy mom-nesia then.