Me, Myself and I

While talking to our boss recently, my coworker referred to me as "the pregnant lady."

"Hey!" I yelled. "I still have identity!"

"No you don't," he told me. "You're pregnant. The only thing about you that matters right now is your baby."

I used to think the only reason other women kept quiet about their pregnancies was to avoid the potential heartbreak of having to tell people if they lost the baby, or perhaps to hide it from the boss. But now that the beans have been spilled about our spawn for several weeks, I have developed a new theory.

Women wait to tell people they are pregnant because they don't want every aspect of their life to become framed by pregnancy.

I am no longer, "Savannah Tranchell, copy editor, food writer, blogger, wife, wannabe-academic." I am "Pregnant."

I am no longer hungry. I have "cravings." I'm not treating myself to a cookie, I'm "eating for two." I'm not tired, I'm "anemic." I'm not grumpy from work, or exasperated with my boss/mom/spouse, I'm not even happy. I'm "dealing with pregnancy hormones."

The worst part, of course, is that I'm only 10 weeks pregnant. I'm only 1/4 of the way done, and I'm not even showing yet. And yet I've already lost every shred of identity that I worked for 27 years to develop.

I'm here to lay all this to rest.


Yes, my body is creating life. It takes an exorbitant amount of energy, about 300 extra calories a day and an extra nap in the afternoon to pull off (if I'm lucky). I have more blood now. My boobs hurt. I can't poop (see previous post). And yes, I'm borderline anemic. And yes, I'm a little testy. And yes, I've had a few epic emotional breakdowns (at home, in the quiet of my living room, with my loving husband's arms around me -- and, OK, once on the phone with my mom).

While ranting to my mom (while sobbing on the phone to my mom), she said, "Honey, we don't mean to tease you. We think it's cute."

At which point she also admitted that she doesn't like having every little thing she does filtered through the lense of "you're just getting old."

So we made a pact. I won't tease her for being old if she won't frame me by pregnancy.

I'll make the same pact with you, gentle reader. If you will allow that for the next 30 weeks I am allowed emotions and actions that are not fueled by pregnancy, I will not throw your stage of life in your face in a way that demeans, ridicules or reduces you to a fragment of your true self.

And in the meantime, we will allow each other the grace and compassion to have a life that is incredibly complicated and influenced by a variety of factors, life-stage and hormonal flux included.

Deal?