Every month, I find myself sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for my turn. I would list this as one of the biggest annoyances of this pregnancy. I understand the point of it, it’s a precautionary act to make sure everything’s fine. Well, logically I understand the point. I’m a normally bitter and sarcastic person, and this act though necessary tests every bit of my core. For me, in my irrational and angry mind, this isn’t only unnecessary but it’s also a waste of time. I hate wasting time.

It’s nice to be there so often that the receptionists know my name and I can just sit down in peace. It’s not nice to be there having to use the bathroom but being unable to because you need to pee in a cup when you get in there. It’s definitely even more uncomfortable to shift positions and realize that you can’t sit comfortably in any of those chairs and you know that even though your appointment is in 10 minutes,  you’ll probably be sitting in that chair for another half hour at least. Or if you’re lucky, they’ll let you sit in the exam room in uncomfortable silence on an uncomfortable and cold table. Then, you go through all that to have your physician say “are you feeling ok? Any bleeding or fluids leaking?”. Then when you respond with a simple “no”, they say you make your job easy and lay you down to hear the heartbeat. I almost feel like this could be easily accomplished with a video conference call while I stay home in my pajamas with my lovely Boppy. That’s not even the worst part for me.

I’m like every other woman on the planet, I have issues with  how I look. All these flaws I build up in my head only get worsened by the pregnancy. Pregnancy glow doesn’t exist, it’s not a compliment when people say you have it. It’s really just oil building up that’s going to end up in a horrible rash of acne. There’s nothing exciting about it. Then, there’s the weight thing. I’ve never been large, even though I admit I’ve always thought I was bigger than I actually was. That changes when you’re pregnant; you really are large. At my recent visit, I even admittedly refused to look at the scale while the nurse weighed me. She didn’t judge, which made me happy that I’m probably nowhere near the only one who just didn’t want to know. Now today, I’m scarred by the number. In my head, I look like I’m about to pop and will never lose this weight. I know it’s illogical, but I can’t  help but to be obsessive about how “big” I am.

I share this story because I know I’m not the only pregnant person in the world that takes one look in the mirror and doesn’t feel a joy but feels an insecurity. Honestly, it’s tiring reading about how awesome it is and I don’t think enough people come out and admit that they feel a certain way. I’m not saying I’m not happy about this bundle of joy, but don’t make us feel like bad people because we don’t “glow” the way you think we should. Pregnant women should be able to come out and say it’s not always peachy without fearing what people think.