?SOMEONE?S READY TO POP!? exclaimed a complete stranger standing next to me in line at Starbucks. ?Um? thanks"? I replied quietly, feigning sudden interest in a cheese and fruit box. ?When are you due""!!? she practically shouted, ?uh? soon,? I whispered, averting my gaze and studying the nutritional information like my life depended on it. That didn?t deter her. ?You must be exciiiiteeed!!!? I thought about it for a moment, put down the box and looked her straight in the eye,  ?I?m not actually. I?m not excited,? I said definitively. ?I?m terrified.?
This poor stranger stared at me like I had spat in her face whilst simultaneously beating a puppy. Clearly horrified, she managed to force an awkward smile before turning around to order her Frappucino. While I would like to apologize for traumatizing this innocent woman, I would not like to retract my statement: I. AM. TERRIFIED. And the more people ask me if I?m excited, the less excited I feel. And the less excited I feel, the more I wonder if I?m a terrible person.
There seems to be a cultural expectation that the moment a woman?s water breaks, she skips to the hospital in blissful anticipation of the glorious new life that awaits. In fact, I?m not sure we?re supposed to feel any other way. It?s widely assumed that we?ll give birth and then seamlessly transition into a completely different lifestyle with nothing but joy and bliss; a concept that comes about as naturally to me as wearing maternity jeans. ...