Great Expectations

If y’all wanna chalk this one up to hormones, go ahead…but in the interest of safety, please do so behind my back.

So as the second trimester progresses (Baby is the size of a LEMON now), I’m learning more and more about the tangled web of pregnancy expectations that has been woven by generations and generations of bumpalicious pregos before me:

“MY wife never even showed until the 8th month.”

“I ran a marathon at 9 months!”

“Look at her – she’s ALREADY lost the pregnancy weight!”

“My daughter was winning tennis tournaments all the way through her third trimester!”

And my personal favorite…

“She was wearing a bikini two weeks after the baby was born...and she looked fabulous!”

OMG, y’all. When did the world decide that vanity and the love of competition rank above safe and healthy babies?

Don’t get me wrong – I feel great. I ain’t training for marathons or winning tennis tournaments or walking around with abs of steel…but I have definitely not thrown away my running shoes just yet. I love staying strong and healthy for the lemon.

The point is – every single one of us is drastically different. And every single baby is, too. So your little marathoner is not my little yogi – catch my drift?

There is plenty of pressure on Mommies-to-be already…without worrying about how in the world Heidi Klum manages to look younger and skinnier every time she has a kid.

We obviously do not share the same genes.

And I’m relieved to have real women in my life to counter all the crazy voices that come from other (un-real?) women I run across from time to time. Friends who are enjoying 9 months free of calorie counting, ladies who admit they gained 90 pounds while pregnant and are now working it off, women who proudly show off their pregnant bodies without one ounce of self-consciousness.

My theory is that pregnancy was meant to be the happiest time of a woman’s life. When you run across an unhappy pregnant woman, chances are, she’s unhappy for a reason. A mean-spirited comment, a nagging worry that she won’t measure up, a friend who’s dropped off the face of the earth, a fear that she can’t be the mom that everyone expects her to be…

It doesn’t take much to keep us happy. We want to sleep late, eat ice cream, decorate the nursery, and talk about baby names.

So please…keep the lighthearted and kind advice coming. But just let us be.