When we got pregnant, although it wasn’t exactly planned, we were extremely excited. Like many women do, I had everything planned as to how much weight I would allow myself to gain, how I wouldn’t eat
fast food and how I would keep exercising. I’m sure you fellow mommies are joining
me in a laugh.

Morning sickness consumed all day and every day of my first trimester. This drove me or my husband on recurring runs to McDonald’s for chicken nuggets and fries. I started to realize that pregnancy, for me, was
not like it was in the movies. I didn’t feel like I was glowing because I had
acne. I didn’t just have a belly bump – I had hip, thigh and boob bumps too.
Lastly, my mind was constantly in an argument with my stomach on whether I
should give in to that double-fudge, triple layer cake or not.

Here, I thought pregnancy would finally take the social stress away. No more dieting, trying to fit into those skinny jeans or comparing myself to other women. Wrong. I watched what I ate knowing that I
would still gain weight, I still tried to at least fit into my fat jeans, and I
now compared myself to other pregnant women.

Somehow, I also surrounded myself with people who raised an eyebrow at my pregnancy complaints. “Oh, I loved being pregnant!” they would remark. The other party was normally someone who looked great with
an extra thirty pounds, ate whatever she wanted without feeling guilty and
someone who didn’t gain arm flaps or National Geographic nipples. That person
also returned to their size four jeans a week after giving birth. These expectant
enthusiasts made me bitter. My mother continued to tell me how she ate Wendy’s
Frosty’s every day and she only gained twenty-five pounds.

For nine months, I was a pregnant grump. Starting at six months I received comments such as, “Wow, looks like you are going to pop,” or “Are you sure you are not carrying twins?” My husband quickly learned to stop
speaking after he made the mistake of asking me why at six months pregnant I
was bigger than the eight month pregnant ladies in the parenting class.

In the end, I won the battle with pregnancy. I had a piece-of-cake labor. However, I was left with thirty-five pounds to lose, stretch-marks to get rid of and a new found love for Spanx. But, I was also
given the greatest gift from God: our little baby girl. It is all worth it, and
to answer the question almost every new mom receives almost immediately after
your baby comes out—yes, I will do it again, but certainly not anytime soon.