an open letter to my body

Dear body,

We’re nearing the end of this pregnancy now (my baby is due today!) and I thought this would be a good time for your semi-annual performance review. It’s been an interesting year, fulls of ups and downs, lotta ins, lotta outs. I firmly believe that a little praise goes a long way, so let’s talk about your strengths before we get to the constructive criticism.

I’m going to miss the adorable basketball belly. I have to confess, you’ve charmed me. The way you sway in the opposite direction of my hips and torso when I’m waddling around is particularly amusing to watch when I’m going down a flight of stairs. I have to grip the handrails for dear life because there is an anchor strapped around my waist, but who’s quibbling.

I’ll also miss watching/feeling the baby kick. Now, this isn’t strictly a good practice on your part, body, it’s the baby, but take praise where you can get it. I’m going to miss the surreal, scifi-esque weirdness that is another body squirming inside my body. Bulging out here and there, flailing under my ribs, head-butting my cervix. I’m not making it sound very good but trust me, it’s the coolest thing.


The only pregnancy photo I want or need

While we’re here, I’d like to thank you for avoiding many of the most cliche pregnancy symptoms repeated ad nauseam on television and film. Approximately two thousand people asked me if I had morning sickness, mood swings, and hilariously crazy food cravings, and approximately two thousand times I answered: I was nauseous for a month but never threw up, I feel fine, and no I happily ate all the same junk before.

Oh, and thank you for surviving Egypt. It was a much-needed vacation and I’m glad we snuck a last hurrah into the second trimester before beginning what will surely be a long dearth in travel. I mean, your feet swole up something awful and we weren’t allowed to pet a million feral cats, but we walked the shit out of that country anyway and I appreciate it.


There are a few areas, body, in which you seriously dropped the ball. Aside from the fact that you gained fifty pounds rather than the recommended thirty. Aside from the gallstones (yes, the gallstones, you’ve never had a gallbladder problem in your life and suddenly cream cheese is our mortal enemy?). Aside from the aforementioned swollen feet, accompanied by swollen hands, chubby cheeks, and a general Michelin Man aesthetic I didn’t realize we had aspired toward.

First, there is the matter of our hips. Hips, why are you trying to dislocate from the rest of our body? I need my legs. I need them to remain attached to me. I use them on a nearly daily basis. I know you don’t like sleeping on your side, but we all have to make sacrifices in life. Running away isn’t the answer.

Body. Really. You’ve put the gas back in gastrointestinal system. I thought we were more dignified than this, but the last nine months have been a rollercoaster ride of constipation, diarrhea, and weird smells. And nobody wants that on a rollercoaster.

While we’re in the region: you’re leaking pee now, too? Don’t blame the baby, you can take a few punches to the bladder without going soft on me. You’ve had 29 years to learn self-control, and you’re losing a boxing match to a fetus. You know what, body? Let’s just cut you off from the tailbone down. Legs had the right idea.

And now we’re not sleeping. I thought we were supposed to be saving up sleep to remember fondly when we’re up all night with an infant, but no, you’re a classic overachiever. Calf cramps, broken hips, and wild nightmares about shadow ghost killers, you’ve really gone out of your way to make every night last as long as the clock will allow. I’m not really sure what you meant to accomplish by this–please include an explanation in your self-review.

Anyway, I don’t want to psych you out right before the Big Day! Haha. What’s done is done, and now we can focus on getting you back into your old, slightly more fit shape. Let’s get back in touch–oh, say six months from now?–to assess our progress. You can do it, body.

Or you’re fired.