What to expect

Today has been a psycho pregnant day. I ran around the house, giddily experimenting with Bar Keeper's Friend - ooh, what else can I clean? The girls gave each other the look that say momma's gone crazy, and we should roll with it. Pregnancy absolutely makes you nuts, at least temporarily {I hope}.

A few of the ways that otherwise normal women become pregnant lunatics {that What to Expect conveniently leaves out}:

Your pants do not fit for 9 months. It doesn't matter what waist band you buy. Even yoga pants ride high one minute then slide off the next. Such is the nature of trying to cover a balloon in elastic. Prepare yourself for constant hiking, pulling, and squirming. It takes it's toll on your sanity.

Food stains appear on every shirt you own, even ones you don't remember wearing. Because you are now the clumsiest person alive, so much so that you don't even notice spills. You can try blaming your toddler, but no one is fooled.

Lots of belly staring from smiling strangers, but no comments. People can't help but notice your baby bump. But somehow we've been trained not to ask when you're due, or if you know the gender, or even congratulate you. People who value their privacy will enjoy this. Personally, I miss celebrating with complete strangers, hearing about their families, even if I do field the occasional rude, you must be crazy.

Every OB's scale adds three pounds. It's incredibly discouraging to think you gained weight driving to your appointment. After three different OB offices, I'm convinced it's a sadistic joke by the college of obstetrics.

Half of the women standing around the playground or eating at Sweet Frog share your condition. Before you jump on me for stereotyping, I'm also standing there, hiking up my elastic waist pants, waddling after my children. I don't know what non-pregnant mothers do to occupy their children, but pregnant ones go to the playground, then recover with frozen yogurt.

Your grocery bill skyrockets. Through the power of suggestion and sympathy cravings. The girls can talk me into anything - out of season fruit from Argentina, extra cheese, treats for Daddy, treats for super dog. Indulging other people's cravings becomes your new vice.

Nesting is more manic than cute. Like labor, there are lots of false alarms with nesting - it's not prepping the nursery or an unusually productive day or growing irritated enough with the long-ignored mess that you throw yourself into organizing it. It's wild, out of control, no real plan cleaning. And not the kind that wows your hubby when he comes home. He's more likely to walk in and cautiously ask, What happened today, while you snore on the couch and your kids run around in their underwear. You can eat off the kitchen floor which is great because you never noticed the day's dirty dishes. Manic, hormone-storm cleaning. Roll with it, and take some Tylenol. Your back is going to punish you when the hormonal numbness wears off.

Pregnancy is a crazy, beautiful blessing. If you love being pregnant, wonderful. If you're hung up on the puberty crazy of it all, I get you. I can only call it beautiful on my third time around. Before this, it was migraines and awkwardness. I felt so guilty around the happy pregnant women who loved their baby bump bodies.

Then the girls arrived, and I realized that how much you love, or don't love pregnancy is no indication of your love for your baby or your ability as a momma. And the craziness of pregnancy is a blip in your history. Easily forgotten, quickly recovered from.

No one stays pregnant forever. And the hormones that made you crazy also make you forget the crazy. Especially when you first hold baby.