Let me just rip the band-aid off and tell you.
I loved being pregnant. Not just because of the whole miracle of birth/I’m carrying a human being inside of me/OMG, what a miracle! part, although that was certainly a bonus. I loved being pregnant because for what seemed like the first time in my life, I felt calm and hopeful.
And I haven’t always been like that.
As a matter of fact, I used to aspire to pessimism. I envied people who belonged to the Glass Half Empty tribe because I was committed to the Glass is Not Only Half Empty, But What’s Left In the Glass Is Poison Without An Antidote school of thought. Pessimism would have been a pleasant improvement over my usual state of mind.
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