Can’t tell a blog by it’s cover…

After reading the title of this blog, Diary of a Mad Pregnant Woman, you may get the obvious nod to the movie, Diary of a Mad Black Woman. You may assume from the title that this is a rant about the aches and pains of pregnancy. If it were, I wouldn’t waste my time writing it, let alone getting people to read it. No, this blog chronicles pregnancy, just not quite how you would expect: in a funny, unvarnished fashion. You see, there are definitely low points of pregnancy (hugging a toilet for the third time that day), and joys like none other: seeing your baby for the first time on an ultrasound (cue tears). This blog attempts to capture that and all the funny things in between.

Okay,  so let’s cut to the meaning of the title. In my family, we have an old wives’ tale that goes like this: you are either one of two types of women while pregnant: weepy (a.k.a. crying all the time) or angry. My mother, God bless her, was the latter. Her stories are a family legend. You would never guess it by her normal creative and upbeat personality. When pregnant, get near her food and WATCH OUT. I learned that one really quick.

So when it was my turn to be pregnant, I arrogantly decided that I would defy all odds and not fit into any pregnancy stereotype. I wouldn’t be cranky, indulge in every craving, have morning sickness, or be an “emotional roller coaster.” No, I would be the model pregnant woman and even keep running my average 20+ miles a week. By week 7, when my beloved coffee suddenly became the worst tasting (and smelling) thing in the world, I concluded that I had some things to learn, and that pregnancy was going to be a little different than I expected…. That is not to say that I have given up on my entire quest to not fit into the typical pregnancy stereotype: I still refuse to retell my labor stories at every available chance in the fish-story fashion. You know what I’m talking about: the women who tend to divulge more than they should, including the arduous 36 hour labor, the epidural that wore off, their terrified husbands (a.k.a. emotionally scarred), and how they couldn’t walk for days. Take it from personal experience- that can make a young girl never want to have kids!

As I weed through fact, fiction, and face one of life’s biggest blessings, I thought I would write about it along the way. I hope that this blog will be entertaining and, at the very least, be a journal that I can cherish for years to come so I can have my own tall tale pregnancy stories like my mother.

And just in case you were wondering, I am the mad pregnant woman. Occasionally, that is….I prefer to say I have a “shorter fuse.”

– SM


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