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Learn + Create (free printable)

March 20, 2015

I’m hoping I’ll be able to blog more about this at great length later, but right now all I’ve got time for is a drive-by post. I’m feeling so inspired and creative right now. Part of the reason is that I finally got around to reading Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative, which was (of course), AWESOME. The rest of the reason is that I’ve been working my butt off to clear my house of clutter, and I think I’ve managed to shake loose a lot of mental clutter, too. So I’m arting and crafting a lot lately, and I came up with a new personal motto/mantra, a daily “to do” list that I want to share with you.

At the end of the day, I’ll consider myself successful if I have 1. learned something and 2. created something. So I made a simple graphic to hang in my workspace and remind me of that:

smoochagator-to-do

If you click on the picture, it’ll take you to a full-size copy of the graphic in PDF form. Right-click on it and save it to your computer so you can print it out and post it to remind YOU to learn something a create something every day.

A quick caveat: when I posted this image on Facebook, my mom was like, “And hugged your babies! You have to hug on your babies!” Well, yes. There are other things I do every day that just have to be done, like eat and sleep and breathe and pee, and yes, love my family. Those things are built into my routine. Creating and learning, unfortunately, AREN’T. I have to remind myself to pursue inspiration and do something with it, or else I get to the end of the week/month/year and I realize I haven’t done much more with my time than watch television and shovel junk food into my face. And I want to do more than that. Much, much more. And I’m sure I’m not the only one, which is why I’m sharing it.

Happy Friday!

I’m So Happy

March 10, 2015

This weekend we celebrated Caitlin’s birthday. She’s two years old.

Party Dress and Cheese Puffs

And three months ago we welcomed John Caleb, our perfectly plump “little” guy.

Mommy and Caitlin and JC

There have been moments, over and over again in the past few months, where I’ve been amazed by how happy I am. Just kind of blown away by how very much my life finally looks the way I’ve hoped and dreamed it would.

Following Caitlin into her room while cradling her baby brother against my shoulder.

Driving the two of them to my mother-in-law’s house for the first time after I went back to work.

Getting them both into bed and then sitting down with a glass of wine to watch a movie with my husband.

Leaving work after a productive day and knowing that I get to see my babies soon.

Enjoying a lazy Sunday all four of us together.

All the simple little moments that make life good, you know? Those moments are just – they’re just awesome.

Agnes I'm So Happy!

Awesome. Except –

Except that this was supposed to be my life two years ago. I was supposed to have Garrett and Caitlin. I was supposed to be mom-to-a-toddler-and-newborn already. Instead, I was mom to an only child, and then a grieving mom, and then mom to an only child again. Ever since November 2012, my house has felt cold and empty – even after Caitlin arrived, even as we began to heal.

I didn’t quite realize it until I was about two-thirds of the way through my pregnancy with John Caleb, but part of me believed that I’d never have two children at home. Never be mom to more than one. I was terrified, in a secret part of myself, that something would happen to Caitlin while I carried her baby brother, or that he’d end up miscarried or stillborn. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, tentatively happy, but always looking over my shoulder and startling whenever I thought I saw the specter of death in my peripheral vision.

And now here I am, and we all got through that okay, and I’m just thrilled with my life, and part of me is starting to look around suspiciously, thinking, “any minute now…”

Because right before we lost Garrett, I was happy. Oh my God, I was HAPPY. My husband and I had gone through a rough time when Garrett was just under a year old, and it had taken quite some time for us to work through, but we did it. We got through it and I was so proud of us. I was so glad we hadn’t given up. I felt so unimaginably blessed. Garrett was an absolute joy, and we had so much fun as a family.

Garrett and Lijee Garrett at the diner Garrett coloring

And then I got pregnant and we were all so excited about our family growing. Even Garrett was asking to look at baby pictures all the time, and when I showed him the ultrasound of his baby sister, he held it close to his face and absolutely marveled at it. I know that sounds crazy, but he did! “Baby seeeeestur,” he whispered as he looked at the photo (the black-and-white 2D kind, the kind no one but an ultrasound tech can decipher).

And then we lost him. Or rather, he was stolen from us. And do you know what that kind of loss does to you? Losing someone violently? At the hands of a person you trusted? It’s more than disillusioning. It’s devastating. It is the very best way to define the term – and I apologize for the strong language – “mindfuck.” I mean, I’ve seen plenty of true crime specials and I’ve read Silence of the Lambs. I know there are some sick puppies out there. But when you find out one of them was living next door to you and took your child by the hand, that takes your motherly paranoia right through the roof. And it makes you think that nothing truly beautiful can exist for very long before the cruelty of this world snuffs it out.

I used to look at Garrett and my heart would ache – I would feel physical pain – at the thought of him being made fun of someday on the playground, or picked last in gym class at school. I never, ever thought that he would face something so much scarier.

I never thought that my hope and faith would be obliterated. And I NEVER thought that somehow, in the months and years that followed, that I’d find it again. That I’d be happy. Not just fake-it-til-you-make-it-happy, but really-for-real HAPPY.

But here I am.

I’ve talked about it before – how I do not understand how these things can coexist, gratitude in the midst of unfathomable loss. The way that grief cycles through my heart is painfully unpredictable. I often feel guilty, and cold, and angry, and disgusted, and hopeless. I wonder what is wrong with me. I wonder what is wrong with everyone else. I wonder how I will manage to get through another year, or ten or fifty.

I think, sometimes, that it would be nice just to lie down and give up.

And I think, other times, that there’s not enough time left on this planet to contain everything that I hope to do and see.

I feel all these things.

Everything is true and false and awful and terrible and glorious.

A few days ago I realized that I am happy, and I am scared of that happiness. I’m scared of losing big again. My paranoia has recently seized on the certainty that I will soon die of cancer. (Spoiler alert: I don’t have cancer and I have no signs of symptoms to indicate that I have cancer… But for some reason I imagine myself quite vividly overtaken by tumors.) Or that my husband will go to work on a snowy day and lose control of his truck and die in a ditch filled with ice water. John Caleb didn’t leave our house for his first two months except to go to scheduled doctor’s appointments because I had visions in my head of him getting pertussis and dying before he was due for his first round of shots.

In other words, I’m scared. Something bad might happen. In fact, it’s very likely that something bad WILL happen, given the fact that this world kind of sucks sometimes. (Although it’s quite unlikely that any given worst-case-scenario playing my head head at any moment is THE bad thing that’s going to happen.) But I came to the realization that… if something bad happens… we’ll get through it.

I mean, we can’t avoid tragedy. I’d like to think that losing big once means I’ve paid my dues, but it doesn’t, necessarily. It DOES mean we’ve learned to live again after losing it all.

And that made me feel a little bit better. (Though I’m definitely still crazy and paranoid.) There is something very freeing about accepting that bad things will happen, and we’ll never understand why, but we will, somehow, find a way to survive.

And we will, someday, find a way to smile.

Mommy and JC cuddles Caitlin and Mommy selfie

In Memory of Gavin Michael Brooks

February 20, 2015

Not Buried Twice

One year ago today, a friend of mine gave birth to her baby boy by emergency C-section. He was born alive but passed away because all of her amniotic fluid was completely gone and all that was in the womb with him was meconium.

Anytime a mom loses her child, it’s sad.

It’s sad whether it’s a car accident or cancer that takes that child, whether he is five years old when he goes or fifty. A mom, regardless of how long she’s had with her child, will still miss him, will still wish she had more time.

But I think there’s something particularly sad about losing a baby, about being cheated out of even a few days or months or years to get to know your child. And there is most definitely something particularly awful about losing a child who did not have to die, whose life was ended before it even began because someone who was trusted to care for that child was careless and negligent.

This is what happened to my friend, Danielle. She was hoping for an all-natural birth at home, so she chose a Certified Professional Midwife (CPM) named Christy Collins. Christy seemed like a friendly, knowledgable caregiver, but as Danielle’s pregnancy progressed, she was frustrated by Christy’s responses (or lack thereof) to her questions. She felt ignored and brushed aside. Still, because she had heard great things about home birth, and because she trusted Christy, she continued going to see her.

Danielle’s due date came and went, and at 42 weeks (two weeks overdue – a point at which most doctors would absolutely insist that a pregnant mom be induced or delivered by C-section) she had a few tests to see how the baby was doing. He seemed to be fine, but there was no amniotic fluid.

This is where is gets ugly. 

Christy asked Jan Tritten of Midwifery Today what she should do in this situation, and Jan in turn asked the followers on Midwifery Today’s Facebook page. (Link is to a PDF of screenshots from the conversation. It was later deleted.)

There were a few people who said, “This is very bad. This woman needs to go to the hospital.”

But many did not say that. Many said, “Oh, she’ll be fine.”

And so Christy sent Danielle and her husband home with a Doppler (a device used to listen to a baby’s heartbeat through the mom’s stomach) so they could monitor the baby. She assured them that the all would be well.

The next day, it became clear to Danielle and her husband that their baby was in distress. They rushed to the hospital, where their son Gavin Michael was born and died. What should have been the happiest day of their lives so far – the birth of their first child! – became the worst day of their lives.

And the saddest thing, the most infuriating thing, is that it did not have to happen.

Though none of us can go back in time and see what “might have been,” it is very likely that if Danielle had been induced a few days or a week earlier, her son would be here to celebrate his first birthday, take his first steps, eat cake and ice cream, make friends, and light up his parents’ life.

But he’s not.

He’s not here because someone who claimed to be a birth “professional” asked strangers on the internet for medical advice instead of admitting that she didn’t know what to do and referring Danielle to a doctor.

And after this happened, Christy Collins denied being Danielle’s midwife, and Jan Tritten/Midwifery today deleted all evidence of their involvement in Gavin’s preventable death.

I’m sharing this story today because I want Danielle to know that her son is not forgotten. That people remember him and love him and won’t let his memory – and what it means – be buried. Gavin Michael’s story should be told, so that people know that home birth midwives in America are not regulated, many are completely clueless about how to handle common birth complications, and many are encouraging parents to make dangerous decisions about their children’s care. And as a result, children are dying.

If you are considering home birth, please think twice. Actually, think long and hard about it. The person you are trusting with your life and your child’s may not be as qualified as you think. They may let you down when you are at your most vulnerable, and as a result, you may end up saying hello and good-bye to your child in the same breath.

Gavin’s story, told by his parents Danielle and Michael:


This blog post has more on Jan Tritten’s involvement in Gavin’s death.

More stories of home birth loss.

More information on what makes home birth in the USA so dangerous, and how the home birth movement ignores and covers up the preventable deaths of children like Gavin:


Please share Gavin’s story.

Please don’t let him be buried twice.

In Light of Gavin Michael

Another Year Gone

November 15, 2014

This time last year, I could only think about this time the year before. As November 14, 15, and 16 approached (the day that Garrett was injured, the day he was declared brain dead, and the day that we said good-bye to him before he was taken into organ donation surgery) all I could think about was what I had been doing at that moment a year before. The days leading up to Garrett’s death, I thought bitterly about how I had no idea how things were about to change. The danger he was in. The pain he was suffering. The way he’d be stolen from us. I replayed my regret over and over again.

I still hate the fact that there is no saving my baby. I’m still angry at myself and the woman who murdered Garrett. And sometimes I’m angry at God. Amazingly, though, this weekend snuck up on me a bit because I’ve been very busy living my life – being a wife and a mom and a person with normal life-type-things going on, like buying Christmas presents and stressing about work projects and playing games on my phone in bed when I should be asleep already.

On the one hand, I feel like I should feel guilty for not spending weeks obsessing about today.

On the other hand, I am very grateful. I am breathing a sigh of relief.

Because those three terrible days in November of 2012, I honestly wondered how I was going to live, and I am grateful to find myself alive now, two years later. Alive and happy, surviving and thriving.

In the months following Garrett’s death, I had no idea how I was going to go on. I just knew that I had to. We had to – my husband and I and our family, everyone who said good-bye to someone incredibly special when Garrett went to heaven. I believed that we’d find a way forward.

And somehow, we did.

It helps, this year, that I’m preparing for the birth of Garrett’s baby brother, who is due in less than three weeks. I have something very specific to look forward to, and something very specific to occupy my time. (You know, like complain about how fat I am while I am eating ice cream. Or complain about how tired I am after getting up from a nap. Or cry because I’m offended for no reason or go back to Target again for the 36th essential item that I just remembered I must have before going into labor.)

But aside from being busy or distracted, I feel that a lot of healing has happened in the past year, because I am able to recall Garrett’s last days and not be swallowed with regret. Instead I marvel that we all, some way, some how, lived through it. I had no idea how we possibly could survive such dark days, but I believed we could, and we did.

A lot of people, every day, have to face the thing they fear the most, or something they never imagined could happen to their family. A few of my friends have entered those dark days recently, and my heart breaks for them. But my heart also has hope for them, that they will find that joy lives on the other side. I have no idea how, I cannot draw them a map, because I’m not 100 percent sure how I found my way through.

All I know – all I can say – is that someday you will wake up and will have a thought about something besides your loss. You’ll think a dozen things, in fact, and maybe even laugh a bit and feel pretty good about life, before you remember the hole in your heart. If you are tempted to feel guilty for that, don’t spend a second giving into that guilt.

Instead, be glad. Be healed, a little, and expect more. You’re still wounded, you’re still grieving, but you are doing grief right by finding your way, slowly, through the darkness back to joy.

Garrett-sleeping-Nov-2012

I miss you every day, sweet boy. We all do. Thanks for being so awesome.
Thanks for living in our hearts forever.

The Kid that is Missing

June 18, 2014

Today is Garrett’s 4th birthday.

In the past few weeks, I’ve dreaded this day. I’ve wondered if I should take it off from work so I could be alone. If I should plan something special, like dinner and a cake and ice cream, or if I should just pretend it’s any other day. I wondered if I should post anything on Facebook, or here on the blog, and if so, what should I say? What can I say? There’s really not much to say on a day like today, a day when a little kid should be opening presents and eating cake but he’s not.

The worst thing about today, for me, is not (just) that it’s Garrett’s birthday and that he’s not here. It’s that enough time has passed that the kid that I miss is no longer the kid that is missing.

When Garrett died, he was two years, four months, and 28 days old. I always round it up to two and a half, but he wasn’t even quite there yet. I suppose child development experts would call his age/stage “preschooler,” but to me he was still very much my baby. He still occasionally woke up in the middle of the night and needed his mommy. He still took a pacifier at nap time and bed time. He was still in diapers. Yes, he was walking and talking and turning into the coolest little kid, and every single day was so much fun for me and his dad because he was having so much fun learning and growing up, but… he was still so little.

So that’s who I miss – that little guy. I’ll tell you a secret: when Caitlin was very small, I wanted to hurry her right through the newborn and infant stage toward toddler, because I missed Garrett so much. I missed his size and shape. And now Caitlin weighs about the same as Garrett did when he died (because he was a skinny little guy!) and she’s starting to get that “little kid” look to her. She is her own person, and I appreciate her as Caitlin, not as “Garrett’s replacement” – believe me, no one could replace him, and I have never expected her to! But it’s tremendously comforting to me, in a way, to have a toddler again.

But I know that if Garrett was here, he wouldn’t be a toddler any more. He’d be a big kid. He’d seem even bigger compared to his sister. I look at my nephew, who turned four in April, and my neighbor’s little boy, whose birthday was back in October, and I wonder what sorts of things that they do would Garrett be doing right now? Would he be riding a bike? Learning to swim? Saying his ABCs? Singing songs he heard on the radio? Collecting fireflies on summer nights? Telling me jokes? Playing pranks?

Would he ask for a special kind of cake for his birthday? Would he like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… or Batman… or Thomas the Train… or some other cartoon I’ve never even heard of? What kinds of things would he want to talk about when his Nana or Auntie called on FaceTime? What presents would he ask for? What size clothes would he be wearing?

These are things I’ll never know.

So that’s what hurts, right now, today… that I have no idea what I’m missing. I have no idea who my boy would be at four years old. I only know who he was at (not quite) two and a half.

caaaaake

Eating leftover birthday cake, July 2012.

Last year on this day, I told the very dramatic, very funny, and only slightly embarrassing story of Garrett’s birth. I highly recommend reading it as a chaser to this downer of a post.

Seven Quick Takes

May 23, 2014

7 Quick Takes Friday - Hosted at ConversionDiary.com

1. You know you might be old and boring – or just a suburban mom who has to buy a million things in bulk every month on a budget – when you get REALLY excited about finally having a Costco membership. Actually, it all started one day when my boss said she was going to the “senior buffet” (Friday lunchtime samples at Costco) and I asked if I could tag along to see what the prices looked like compared to Sam’s. Used to be I wasn’t a fan of the warehouse stores because I felt like it was impossible to go to one without spending a billionty* dollars (true) and most of the items they sell aren’t that cheaper than buying at Walmart or Target (which I have since concluded to be FALSE). I was won over by the massive discount in price on frozen fruit (I have a smoothie obsession) and Venus breeze shave cartridges (my skin is stupid sensitive and I am very lazy) and the fifty-pound box of Huggies Natural Care Wipes.

Oh, and the samples.

Oh, and the wine prices are pretty much the awesomest ever, but that means little to me right now since I am incubating a parasite. But don’t worry, I won’t leave that section of the store neglected forever.

OH OH OH! And then there’s the Land-o-Lakes half-and-half for $2 a quart AND the Newman’s Own Organic K-cups for less than 50 cents apiece. I think the membership will pay for itself in my coffee obsession alone, since I drink about 17 cups a day.

And yes, I realize that I really do sound like a big old nerd for being so excited about cheap coffee creamer. DON’T JUDGE ME I LOVE COFFEE OKAY.

2. This afternoon is our consult with the maternal-fetal medicine specialist and genetic counselor, plus an ultrasound, all of which I’m super excited about. This is the first pregnancy where I am officially old and at first I kind of thought the advanced maternal age BS was all about squeezing extra money out of women who are scared of Down Syndrome (which is a whole other post unto itself but we won’t go there now) but I’ve come around to the other side. It’ll be nice to get a head’s up if this child has any special needs, and if not, we get to have extra baby pictures which is cool. And the new prenatal diagnostic tests are REALLY precise without being super invasive, so that’s a plus. When my mom was pregnant with my younger brother 30 years ago, she had a very difficult high-risk pregnancy at 34 years old (and was super traumatized by the AMA label), and pretty much the only option she had for diagnostic testing for amnio, which she refused for a couple of reasons (not the least of which is the miscarriage risk). I just think it’s super cool that women have all these options available to them now.

spice-up

3. But enough about me. Let’s talk for a second about Hallie Lord‘s new book, Spice Up Your Marriage: A 28-Day Adventure. Hallie is a writer and mom of six kids so she totally understands the challenges that come from keeping your intimate relationship fresh and exciting when you and your spouse are busy and tired. I just bought the book myself and can’t wait to read it. I’m pretty sure my husband, if he knew I was going to read it, would be excited too, LOL.

4. Speaking of my husband, he’s been thinking of starting a blog AND I SO WANT HIM TO DO IT. He gets a charge out of arguing with people on Twitter and has been itching to break out of the 140-character box. (Warning: if salty language offends you, don’t read my man’s tweets. Because he is a BIG fan of the F-bomb and other colorful words.) But he’s all like, “Blah blah blah who the heck is going to read my blog?” and I’m like, “Blah blah blah welcome to my world.” Seriously, though, I think he would really enjoy blogging, so I’m lobbying pretty hard. Plus then I get to design his site (which I have tons of ideas for)!

5. Okay I gotta power thru the rest of this post because I need to get showered and out the door soon. But let’s be honest, I don’t have much else interesting to say. So I’ll link you to this article about the old “as long as it’s healthy” adage you hear from expecting parents all the time.

That phrase has haunted me, ever since we found out that our child would be born with a birth defect. As long as it’s healthy! People chirp at you, when you talk about finding out the gender. Boy? Doesn’t matter! Girl? Who gives a sh*t! Nothing else matters but perfect health! And once you discover that your kid isn’t healthy, it almost feels like a threat.

Because what if it’s not healthy?

What then?

6. And then I’ll leave you with Garfunkel and Oates’ “Pregnant Women are Smug,” which is all I can think of when I hear, “As long as it’s healthy.” Kind of salty language in this one, too, but IS HILARIOUS:


And true. So true.

7. And lastly, to complete the annoying pregnancy cliche trifecta, we have “Sh*t Pregnant Girls Say:”


I kinda LOLed. A lot.

WAIT WAIT WAIT bonus quick take: “Sh*t CRUNCHY Pregnant Mamas Say:”


So true. Also, quite smug.

All righty, I gots to get out of here! Go see Jen for more quick takes.

*billionty – new word coined by my friend Bunnika when describing a centipede she kilt with a cat litter scoop

What Pregnant Women Want

May 20, 2014

So my my post on Friday drew the highest number of visitors this website has ever seen. I mean, my biggest day is still pathetic compared to some bloggers’ slowest days, but still: most blog traffic OF ALL TIME.

Kanye "Of. All. Time."

Say it with Kanye: “Of. All. Time.”

I mean, I even got tweeted from Dr. Amy! (In spite of the fact that I said she was sort of mean. She’s very forgiving like that, I guess.) I am adding this to my list of brushes-with-blogging-celebrities, which right now is populated mostly by Catholic mommy bloggers who occasionally respond to my stalker missives email correspondence.

And it got retweeted FOUR TIMES! Look out, y’all, I am taking over the internet with my blogaliciousness.

Anyway, whenever I get a spike in traffic, I always feel like I should write something halfway interesting within the next day or two so that all the people who randomly found me won’t think that I’m someone who only updates her blog every couple of months with totally inane content… um, which I am. But then I am seized with performance anxiety, as per the usual, and I can’t think of anything interesting to write about and I started seventeen different drafts of really stupid posts and then I just give up and listen to the mean voices inside my head that say I suck at writing and ought to just eat some ice cream to make it all better.

But then! Last night my sister sent me this awesome infographic about what pregnant women in different countries Google about:

Googling While Expecting - nytimes.com

I assume she sent it because I am pregnant and have a degree from Google University. The related article, “What Do Pregnant Women Want?” is slightly dry dissection of the cultural differences in pregnancy worries across the world (with the bonus, slightly disturbing revelation that lactation kink is a big deal in India). It got me thinking about the different things I’ve Googled while expecting (biggest concerns: sushi, Paxil, and scooping the cat’s litter box).

But let’s be honest – what pregnant women want is a kind of different from what they’re worried about when they’re pregnant – i.e., what they’re going to look for on the net and in the expert’s books.

So, in case you’re wondering, here is my totally unscientific but maybe-probably-not-helpful list of things that pregnant women want, based on my experience and the things I’ve heard knocked up friends ask for and complain about. If your heartful desires are not represented on this list, I apologize. Leave a comment with a suggestion and our editorial team (i.e., the voices in my head and a half-gallon of ice cream) will consider adding it to the list.

What Pregnant Women Want

  1. We want ALL THE FOOD. We want some Chinese take-out, and pizza, and chips and salsa, and maybe some ice cream and thirteen Twinkies for good measure. And Coca-cola and a peanut butter smoothie. And cookies and a tuna fish sandwich.
  2. We want NO FOOD. We never want to eat again because everything is disgusting. Also, don’t eat in front of us. Ever. Especially Chinese take-out or a tuna fish sandwich.
  3. Please excuse us while we go barf.
  4. And while we pee. Again.
  5. Please don’t touch us. Actually, strike the “please.” JUST DON’T TOUCH US. At all. I don’t care how well you know a pregnant woman, it’s not appropriate to rub her belly unless she specifically says, “Hey, the baby’s moving! Want to feel?”

    And if you’re the kind of person who touches a pregnant stranger’s belly? Then you have serious boundary issues. (This has never happened to me, but apparently it’s much more common than people NOT raised by wolves would imagine.)
  6. We want to sleep. Ever hour of the day is an appropriate time for a nap. Even the middle of the work day, while we’re sitting on a toilet, leaning against the bathroom wall.

    Not that I’ve ever done that. *ahem*
  7. Except we CAN’T sleep. Because we have reflux and our back hurts and we have to pee every thirteen seconds. And everything is annoying – including the streetlights shining in through our bedroom window and how loudly the fat cat snores.
  8. Excuse me while I Google “okay to take sleep aids when pregnant?”
  9. We want to learn everything there is to know about pregnancy and babies! Until it gets too science-y or gross or scary or boring or all seven. Then we just want to look at nursery ideas on Pinterest.
  10. We want at least one edgy outfit for our kid to prove that we’re still hip and cool even though we’ve decided to procreate:

    sofa-king-cute

  11. Also, just stop already with your clever commentary on our reproductive choices. Like, “Don’t you know what causes that?” or “Don’t you have a TV?” or “It’s about time!” or “Isn’t it amazing how I can keep talking with my foot in my mouth?” or “Can you believe I say these things out loud and in public? Clearly my parents raised an idiot!”
  12. Related: The following things are never appropriate to say to a pregnant woman:
    “Wow, you’re only ____ months along? Are you sure you’re not having twins?” or “Haven’t you had that baby yet?” I mean, you COULD say them, but you could also fill your pockets with chicken necks and go swimming in the Louisiana swap. Either way: you’re not very smart.
  13. For the love of Shirley Temple, please refrain from giving a pregnant woman medical advice unless you actually ha
    ve a degree in medicine.
    And no, it doesn’t matter how many hours you’ve spent on WebMD, a fact which sorely disappointed me.
  14. Pregnant women want clothes. Not in a vain, I’m such a fashionista I’m obsessed with the latest styles and colors kind of way. No, in a totally essential I can’t leave the house naked but all of a sudden out of nowhere nothing freaking fits kind of way. We’d like shirts that are neither tents nor navel-baring crop tops. We want maternity jeans that are flattering to more than one body type (and that one body type being Heidi Klum). And we want things to be reasonably priced so that we don’t feel bad paying retail for something we’re realistically only going to wear for three months. And is it possible that they could be well-made because we’re probably going to wear certain items every other day and wash them twice a week and we’d like for them not to fall apart in the three month timeframe that we need them.
  15. We would like a hug. And to be taken seriously when we’re crying over something stupid. Because yeah, we’re hormonal and unreasonable and we know that but we hate being reminded by everyone else who doesn’t have a parasite that’s turned them into a whining drama queen that can’t stop sweating.
  16. We would like for the evening news to stop airing stories about child abuse and random school shootings because we’re not allowed to take the good anti-anxiety drugs while we’re knocked up, and we are prone to very vivid nightmares at this particular point in our lives.
  17. We’d also like it if everyone stopped sharing their horrific birth stories or talking about how their second cousin’s sister-in-law who did ____ that we are doing RIGHT NOW and then had a miscarriage.
  18. We’d also like for everyone to stop telling us to get rid of our beloved pet because of some old wive’s tale about cats stealing a baby’s breath. That’s honestly *so* 1936 that I’m kind of embarrassed for you.
  19. And lastly, we would like for you to be happy for us and encourage us. We might be feeling totally freaked out about becoming a mom for the first (or fifth) time. We might be worried about finances or the baby’s health or where on earth we’re going to get the money for daycare or how we’ll fit another person into our cramped house. We may not think we’re doing a very good job being mom to the kids we already have, or we might think we’re too young or too old or too crabby or too spacey to be a decent parent. So please, have faith in us. Encourage us. Tell us we’re going to do great, and that you’ll be there to help however you can, because then we’ll start believing in ourselves, and we’ll know we’re not as alone as we feel sometimes.
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