I’m Pregnant Not Porcelain

I’m pregnant! NOT porcelain! This has become my pregnancy mantra, motto and response to strangers who look at me like I should be at home with my feet propped up, sipping apple juice and watching soaps all afternoon.

Why do people think pregnant women are going to shatter into a million pieces? Seriously? Why? Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean the only safe place for me is on my couch knitting something or reading the latest pregnancy book.

I understand that some pregnancies call for extra caution to be taken to ensure the health and safety of Mommy and Baby. It’s important that you listen to your body and work with your doctor or midwife to determine the level and types of activities that are safe for you and your little bun. I also know that people mean well, and that they are only trying to show kindness when they look at you at the post office and go, “Mommy! Now, you know you shouldn’t be carrying that box!” First of all this box weighs less than five pounds, and if I didn’t think I could carry the box then I wouldn’t be trucking it through the post office. Are you a medical professional? NO. Do you have a uterus? NO. Do you really think you know what my body can handle more than I do? Nope, I didn’t think so! I know you’re just trying to be nice, but the more appropriate thing would have been to offer to take the box for me and not speak to me like I’m ignorant.

Another example…

I was checking in at the  gym, and the front desk worker was greeting everyone as she scanned their cards. “Have a nice time.” “Enjoy.” Have a great workout.” Then she gets to me, and goes, “And, you be careful up there.” HOW RUDE! Then, when I got to the yoga studio the woman beside me goes, “Are you sure you should be here?” and later goes, “I don’t know if you should be doing this pose.” I really wanted to knock her off her downward facing dog, but that wouldn’t have been very yogi of me. Thankfully, the wonderful yoga instructor speaks up and goes, “She’s here every week. When she’s not comfortable with a pose, she tells me and we modify it.”

Another example…

The stranger at the grocery store scolding me, finger wagging and all, “You know you really shouldn’t be out here in this heat, especially carrying all those groceries.” I wanted to be rude back, but instead I smiled and said, “It sure is hot isn’t it?” What I really wanted to say was, “You know I don’t want to be out here in the heat. I’d much rather be at the pool or relaxing on the couch, but my family has to eat so here I am. If you’re really concerned, you could load my car for me while I sit in my air-conditioned car.”

Picture by Runawayalice Photography

It infuriates me that pregnant women are treated like like a piece of antique porcelain china, something that should be admired from inside a glass cabinet where it has no chance of cracking or breaking. It’s like once the world knows your pregnant, you’re no longer a person. Your intelligence, your independence, your individuality are all void. It’s very insulting. When this whole being pregnant thing comes to a close, we have to deliver this baby which is probably one of the most intense workouts that we’ll ever experience and then once the kid pops out we have to find the energy to care for this little being that is 100% dependent on us to survive. Does it make sense that someone that has to be that strong and have that kind of endurance needs to be kept on a pedestal for nine months? Not to me. The exact opposite makes sense to me. If all I do during my pregnancy is sit around and watch the grass grow then I’m not going to have the stamina I need to deliver and care for this baby. It’s important for me to stay active and build up my strength so that when the time comes I will have an easier delivery and more energy to care for Deuce.

I experienced this oppression when I was pregnant with Moanna, and I allowed it to happen until I realized that it was OK for me to tell people to back off. My doctor told me I couldn’t carry trays anymore at work. I didn’t feel that it was fair for me to be a server and have everyone doing the heavy lifting for me, so I asked to be switched to a hostess and a to-go server. I made significantly less money than I would have as a server and I got bored a lot, but I thought I was doing the right thing because the doctor said I couldn’t lift anything. My professors modified my internship work for me so that I wasn’t working in areas of the hotel that were more prone to physical labor and accidents so that I wasn’t a liability to the hotel or the school. If all of that wasn’t enough, a professor didn’t want me taking both of his classes at once (very long story), but I needed it in order to finish and graduate before Moanna was born. He was all, “You’re pregnant. It’s not safe for you to put you or your baby under this kind of stress. It’s not fair to your group members because you’re not going to have the energy they have to get the work done…” THAT is when I snapped. I told Mr. Man that I wasn’t afraid of his classes despite his warnings and the fear he placed on his other students. Yes I am pregnant, and yes I know it’s going to be stressful taking both capstones at once. However, what is more stressful is the thought of having to give birth and take this stupid class during the summer. Do you really want me going into labor in the middle of your holy class? Don’t you think it’s going to be MORE stressful for me to be a brand-spanking-new mom and take one of the most difficult classes at this school? Plus, PLUS, being pregnant means that I’m not going out and partying every night like the rest of the people in my group that you think I’m going to burden. Instead, I’m going to be going to bed early, taking care of my body, thinking and acting like an adult. Do you know what that means? A much clearer mind to focus on my classes. While these kids are out drinking, I will be at home with my books and my cat watching TV. My priorities are very different than the rest of the students in your class. This is their last semester of college; they’re going wild. I was given a swift kick into adulthood. I have a family to care for now, and in order for me to be a good mother, I need to finish school NOW. You and I both know that this child’s life is going to be much better in a million ways if its mother has a degree… I don’t know if he was tired of hearing me speak, or if he didn’t want the responsibility of knowing that he could be limiting the quality of life of someone who hadn’t been born yet, but he finally agreed to let me take both of his classes at the same time so I could finish before I popped. HOWEVER, I had to sign a statement saying that I would not sue him or the school if anything should happen to me or my child because of stress induced by his classes. That made me mad too, but I wasn’t interested in fighting that point. I had gotten my point across and I would finish school before I became a mother. After I finished that final semester of school on the Dean’s List and graduated, I returned to serving again. For the last month of my pregnancy, I worked until I popped. I made a lot more money and I carried almost every one of my trays. It took me until the end of my pregnancy with Moanna to realize that I wasn’t going to shatter into a million pieces or put my child at risk by simply living my life the way I felt comfortable living it. (WOW that was long winded… apparently I needed to vent)

With this pregnancy, I haven’t allowed people to put me in the china cabinet. More importantly, I haven’t put myself in the cabinet. I have done my best to stay active, keep up with my daily responsibilities, complete projects and enjoy life. I went zip-lining in Costa Rica at 14 weeks pregnant. I rode a couple of rides in Disney World that were not recommended for expectant moms – not the super crazy rides, just a few rides that I had been on before that I felt comfortable riding while pregnant. I go to yoga every week. I lift Moanna up from time-to-time. I’ve taken road trips. I’ve stayed up way too late and gotten up way too early the next day. I run errands in this bloody heat. I’ve taken day trips that have resulted in miles and miles of walking. I’ve moved furniture… You get the point. I haven’t spent this pregnancy in the cabinet watching life pass by me.

I’m pregnant, not porcelain. This does not mean that I do not appreciate your help when you offer it. I like it when you hold the door open for me, or offer to carry something heavy. I may even ask you for help when I’m exhausted or feel that a task is too strenuous for Deuce and me to handle on our own. This also does not mean that I’m making risky decisions or doing things to endanger Deuce or myself. I would never do anything to knowingly cause harm to either of us. I use the guidance of my midwives and my maternal instincts to decide what is safe for Deuce and me. Please treat me, and all pregnant women for that matter, like the strong and capable women that we are. I promise we won’t shatter into a million pieces before your eyes.

**I know I said that I was going to continue with the next part of Moanna’s Birth Story today, but with all of the holiday festivities going on I haven’t been able to focus on writing such a serious post. PLUS, I was too excited about this picture from Runawayalice Photography to put this post off for another day. I began writing this post on June 20th. When we took the caution tape picture last weekend, this post never crossed my mind. When I went back to edit and prepare the post for publishing, I knew this picture would be perfect and asked Beth to send it over. It’s the first picture I’ve seen from the maternity shoot we did the other week and now I’m dying to see the rest!

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