I would like to begin this post with a disclaimer: I am most definitely not pregnant. Trust me. I know.
However, nursing school has done terrible things to my maternal instincts. Pregnancy is like a ceaseless fountain of horror and deformation.
Did you know that pregnancy can cause varicose veins IN AND AROUND YOUR VULVA? (This is in addition to hemorrhoids, discolored discharge, and constipation, which are ostensibly temporary.) Varicose veins are, barring painful and costly surgery, permanent.
And everyone knows that pregnancy takes your nice pink maidenly nipples and replaces them with somebody else’s nipples, somebody whose nipples are dark and a totally different texture and sometimes a completely different shape. Some people suffer permanent scarring on their breasts; others have breasts that suddenly grow completely out of control and become unbearably heavy. Permanently.
But, you know, while you’re developing that weird brown line from your navel to your pubic arch (which, I have to admit, I think is kind of neat), your vulva is turning weird colors too, and it will never go back. Some women experience chloasma, the ‘mask of pregnancy’, a raccoon-like bruised-face decoration that, for some women, is (say it with me) permanent.
I suspect it’ll get easier as I get older, when my biological clock starts ticking, or when my body starts changing with age. I hope so.
It’s just… I like my body. I like it thin and supple and willowy and pale, flat-chested and gawky and freckled and inviolate. I can’t keep it forever, but I can’t imagine willingly giving it up before its time to go.