Pregnancy Is Beautiful (and by Beautiful I Mean an Absolute Circus Fire)

You know how everyone talks about the glow? The magic? The miracle of creating life?

Yeah. Okay. Sure. But also—WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME.

Let me explain.

🥒 Cravings? No. Just Surprise Vomit.

I wasn’t one of those “I need pickles dipped in peanut butter” people.No, no. My body said, “Surprise! You’re about to projectile vomit across I-25 in 12 seconds. No warning. No trigger. Just go time.”

Pregnancy isn’t just cravings. It’s combat nausea with zero prep time.

😭 Mood Swings? Try Paper Towel Commercials and Corporate Bullying

I cried—sobbed—at a paper towel commercial because one brand outperformed another and I didn't like the tone. Why were they so mean to the off-brand 1-ply?? He was just doing his best.

Hormones are running this show now, and let me tell you, they are emotionally unstable producers.

🛏 “Enjoy Your Sleep Now” — A Memoir of Rage

Oh, really? ENJOY IT?

Let’s see:

• I have heartburn that feels like I drank battery acid

• I pee every 4–8 minutes (and by “pee” I mean 3.5 droplets)

• I’m not allowed to sleep on my back, which is the ONLY position I’ve ever loved

• I get shoulder cramps and hip cramps and weird twitchy thigh cramps

• I have to physically roll like a rotisserie chicken every 15–30 minutes

Yes. I’m THRIVING. Thank you, Carol.

🧠 “Are You Breastfeeding?” = Please Stop Talking About My Nipples

Random lady at the store: “Are you planning to breastfeed?” Me, internally: “So we’re talking about my boobs now? Cool. I’m sure you're definitely not imagining my nipples right now.”

WHY is this the default question? Why is it ever okay to ask a stranger about the personal function of their chest?? Ask me about the weather. Ask me about my shoes. Ask me about literally anything that isn’t inside my bra.

🙄 The Belly Patrol: Unsolicited Touches & Size Comparisons

No one told me pregnancy would turn my stomach into a public petting zoo.

People I do not know have touched me. People I barely know have told me how big/small/wide/“carrying low” I am. Newsflash: I’m aware. I’m living in here. If you’re not the OB, the ultrasound tech, or the person who put the baby in here—don’t touch.

🔥 It's June. I'm Pregnant. And My Ankles Are the Size of Small Loaves of Bread.

I’m hot. I’m swollen. I came to the store for pickles, decided I didn’t want pickles, and watched my fiancé eat the entire jar later like it was HIS idea. But guess what?

A stranger said, “Nice weather we’re having,” and I said, “Yeah, think we’re getting rain Tuesday.” And for one brief moment, I was a person, not just a walking uterus. It was the greatest interaction I’ve had all week.

If you're pregnant and feel like you're being slowly cooked from the inside out while being emotionally tormented by both paper products and strangers:You are not alone. You are not crazy. You are just very, very pregnant.

So here’s your permission slip to be dramatic, to spiral, to say “THIS SUCKS” out loud, to skip the pickles, and to scream into the void anytime someone touches your belly without consent.

And remember:You can love your baby with your entire soul and still say “what the f*ck” 22 times a day.

That’s not being a bad mom.

That’s just being real.