Pregnancy is rarely glamorous. I have a rash between my breasts, my face looks like the before pictures of a Proactiv commercial, and I bawl my eyes out in the shower for no apparent reason every morning (which is surprisingly therapeutic, actually.) My bowel movements walk a thin line between liquid and coal and on any given day you’ll find me yanking aside my maternity pants to scratch my itchy baby bump. I’m nineteen weeks and my belly button has already waged a full-on protest. I’d also like to take this opportunity to reach through the World Wide Web and slap women who perpetuate the rumor that pregnancy is a time for uncontrollable sexual desire. My babymaker is currently occupied, and dry heaving on my husband during sexy time just isn’t a memory that I want either of us to have. Sorry, babe.
And then there’s the dreams. Read the rest of this entry →