Convenient memory loss?

Total amnesia?

Or was it some sort of guilt thing?

Whatever it was, I could not understand any woman claiming no stretch marks, no morning sickness, no mood swings, no swelling, no pain in childbirth... you get the picture. I mean, certainly there was some discomfort - some part of her body that didn't bounce back to perky immediately after delivery.

So, when this poor writer got all this information that went against my every pregnancy experience, as well as the experiences of every other woman I've ever personally known, I felt compelled to tell her the truth.

The whole truth.

My post met with some objection from the earth mother group who felt no pain and have flat stomachs after twelve children.

My post also met with ten times as many private emails from women reporting their pregnancies had been just like mine.

One woman suggested I try to write Love and Laughter. I didn't have the heart to tell her I write historical melodrama.

One woman suggested I make my place in the world speaking to teens, because the truth, as I told it, would surely be a deterrent to teen pregnancies.

And one woman suggested I post this online so more women could laugh (I must admit, I didn't find any of this the least bit humorous while I was experiencing it personally, and this post was not written to be funny).

I'm more inclined to post this so any woman considering pregnancy will have a clue what to expect, because the books and birthing instructors aren't entirely truthful.

So here it is... the truth about pregnancy, as told by a woman who is not ashamed to admit that, after three children, the very thought of being pregnant again throws her into immediate panic. I found no glory in enduring the discomforts of pregnancy quietly. I carry my battle scars proudly--Heaven knows I earned every one of them. My children know that their mother endured unspeakable agony on their account, and they respect me all the more, I assure you.

A little warning... this post has it's more graphic moments, and is not intended for children or people who frighten easily.

Let's start at the beginning...

The first three months of pregnancy, you feel like you're bloated and the big P should start anytime (but it doesn't). Your body is thrown into utter chaos--you cry, laugh like an idiot, cry some more, want to sleep but can't, feel nauseated, spend a lot of time with your head in a bucket and start craving weird foods.

Even worse, you gain five pounds the moment you get the positive pregnancy test.

Sure, part of you is thrilled to be pregnant. You start reading all the mommy books, and thinking about names and furniture and life with a child, but you inevitably fall asleep or start to cry, and can't enjoy the thrill for long stretches at a time.

Then there are the breasts that feel more like boils, and the hormones that make you need to powder your nose every five minutes, even if you've had nothing to drink for days.

Second trimester...try urinary tract infections for starters. Nothing fits you except maternity clothes, and they are cool for about the first two months you wear them, but that fades fast when your friends are wearing the latest fashions and you are stuck in teddy bears, bows and pastels.

Oh, and the hair... it starts to grow everywhere, at a rate of speed that you never thought possible (ever have a 5:00 shadow on your knees before?)--suddenly the inevitable pain of a bikini wax seems a small price to pay.

Then there are the pregnancy dreams. I'm told these are a mama's way of working out the stress and fear of it all. Once I dreamed that I gave birth to a huge litter of rare blue and white tigers of various sizes. Another time I dreamed that I was tired of waiting for my baby, so I unzipped my stomach and pulled him out so I could play with him, then I wanted to put him back because he wasn't full term, but I couldn't figure out how to get him back in. The worst was the time I dreamed he was born way too early, and I couldn't save him.

About the 4th month, if you concentrate, you can feel the baby on the inside--that's awesome. By the 5th month you might be able to feel it by placing your hand on your belly. By the 6th, he decides to start gymnastics practice, and that's not so fun because it's usually when you are asleep or resting, and sometimes the only way to stop the running and jumping inside is to feed them, which means more weight gain for you.

Toward the end of the second trimester, your belly button begins to grow. I'm not talking minor growth. I mean that, by the day you deliver, you are carrying around something that looks like golf ball where your belly button used to be. This is the same time the line begins to appear straight down the center of your belly, from your huge navel all the way down, and it darkens more each day, until at last it looks like you were bored and drew the line with a permanent black marker. And that area that used to be your cute little belly button grows dark, too.

By now the cravings have grown serious.

With my first it was vegetables with lots of salt, potato chips dipped in clam chowder (it's actually very good), bacon egg and cheese biscuits from Mc Donalds with OJ (I never liked OJ before) and ice-cream sandwiches by the dozen.

With my second, it was meat and Pop Tarts. I'd always ordered my Whoppers with lettuce, tomato, mayo and ketchup, but suddenly that was too gross to even think about let alone eat, so I started eating them with cheese, onion, pickle and ketchup. During this pregnancy, I couldn't stomach any vegetables, and had to force myself to eat them.

With my third it was pork--any way I could get it. Bacon, sausage, pork chops, ribs, bacon bits, you name it. And BBQ sauce on all of it.

I drank whole milk by the truckloads with all three, grew to hate apple juice, and developed a long term love of large hot fudge and peanut butter sundaes.

Enter the third trimester... Baby is getting bigger, and your body knows it. He presses against your stomach 24/7, and causes heartburn from hell. Tums becomes your new best friend; not rolls but those economy size bulk bottles. You can't even breathe without feeling like your stomach is on fire and shooting up your throat. It makes you cough, makes speech difficult, and makes your eyes water. And every day it gets worse.

By now the stretch marks look like purple roads on a map. Your feet begin to swell. You've started to powder your nose every two minutes--and God forbid you cough or sneeze at the wrong moment, because you'll ... you get the picture.

Your appetite lessens (thank God, because you've already gained 40 pounds). You are out of breath if you exert more energy than it takes to yawn. Also, this is when your doctor gets serious, and the visits become more frequent, as does his wearing of the dreaded rubber glove.

Strangers walk up to you and feel the need to touch your belly. They never say, "Can I touch your belly?" From out of nowhere, they walk up and feel you.

Family starts demanding a name for the baby. No matter what you pick, someone will dump on it. I wanted to name my first one Seamus (his name is Jared). I wanted to name the second one Rachel (her name is Jordan). I wanted to name the third Jonah (at this point I had to stick with Js, even though I despise people who give all their children names that start with the same first letter)--you should have heard the whale jokes (his name is Jacob).

Also, did I forget to mention that it really isn't safe to have a perm or color your hair during pregnancy? The chemicals enter your blood stream through your head and can hurt the baby. Your raging hormones will make the perm and color take differently than they would otherwise. So by now, you have a good 4-6 inches of new growth from the scalp and another six inches of old perm or color beyond that.

Your breasts have swollen to ten times their normal size, and are so heavy they rest on your belly. I actually had a cat jump up and perch on mine.

That hideous growing belly button takes on a life of its own and waves at passersby.

You also start the classes for "natural" childbirth. They are deceptive. They make you think you can handle something as natural as childbirth, and tell you you can control the pain. Everything is going along fine, and you buy what they are selling.

Then they get to the movies. First they show you natural childbirth. If you've never seen a woman deliver, this one is a real eye opener. It is then you decide a cesarean is the way to go.

Well, that's the next movie. You get to watch them insert a needle the length of your arm into a woman's spine, then you get to watch them slice her open like a big piece of cherry pie. Suddenly being stretched to 1000 x your normal size is appealing, especially when you find out that even after a cesarean you still get an episiotomy, and then have to deliver the placenta naturally (NOTE: I was told this is not how they do it anymore, but that is what took place in the film I saw).

Have you ever seen a placenta? It's the size of a dinner plate and looks like raw liver. Probably weighs as much as a newborn. So what is the benefit of a cesarean? You still have labor pains and you still need the episiotomy and you're still stretched.

At last the day arrives. By now you are tired of being pregnant, and you really do want to meet your baby after these long months. You start having real labor pains, and you think "this isn't so bad". You get to the hospital and are rushed up to a room to be checked. You think, "Boy, aren't these nurses sweet? See how they care about me?"

They ask you what you had to eat in the last few hours, and you tell them, "Just Swiss steak, potatoes and gravy, lima beans, a glass of milk and 6 ice-cream sandwiches, a pint of Nestles chocolate milk and two Hostess pink snowballs with cream filling." (You think I'm kidding, don't you?)

They throw the little barf pan aside (you know, the one that comes with your cool little hospital kit?) and race across the room, grab an industrial size trash can, and throw it beside your bed, expecting a real mess.

Your water breaks. Things are getting serious now.

They turn on the TV and there is some show about monkeys--of course it's the one where they take a baby monkey away from its mother and give it a big doll instead, and the baby tries to cuddle and love the fake mother and cries when it doesn't love him back. You cry hysterically and turn off the TV.

They come back into your room with the rubber gloves on. They don't say, "Hi, how are you," they say, "Lift your knees."

Then someone else comes in and makes you stand up. The contractions have gotten worse, but you're brave and stand--only to learn what an enema really is, and then the nurse says, "OK, now just hold that in" (yeah, right).

After that bit of fun is over, it's back into your bed, and another nurse enters with...rubber gloves. Sheesh, your own husband never felt you up this much! Now with your insides empty, the contractions double in intensity. It is then you realize those childbirth classes were a scam to get you to pay $50.00--they lied. Breathing doesn't make the pain go away. In fact, screaming feels a hell of a lot better right now.

A nurse comes in pulling on her... rubber gloves. For the love of God, you should be charging admission--you'd be rich!

A contraction from hell hits you. You grab the nurse's hand and try to bite her--you need to bite something, and since she is the closest, it may as well be her. She slaps you, swearing it's self defense, but you know better.

You look to your husband for rescue. He's staring at you with his mouth gaping open in shock and horror. You decide he's a bloody idiot and you aren't sure why you married him to begin with and ignore him. Looking at him only reminds you he's an idiot and he's the one that got you into this mess anyway.

Divorce is inevitable, just as soon as you recover from this nightmare.

The pain becomes unbearable. You ask for drugs. They deny you. You aren't picky--you ask for some Tylenol (preferably a whole bottle). They still deny you. At this point the long needle and being sliced from end to end seems like a small price to pay to get this pain over with. You shriek, "Fine. I don't need drugs. Just give me the cesarean--I'll double your pay! Just get this baby out NOW!" They scoff at you.

You writhe in agony. The seconds pass like years. A sword in the stomach would be welcome compared to the pain you're in now.

The idiot sitting in the corner with his mouth agape better NEVER complain about anything again after all he's putting your through.

The nurse comes in... more rubber gloves. She's in up to the elbow now. As strange as it seems, you're certain this is her warped idea of entertainment, otherwise, she wouldn't feel compelled to do it so often.

Then another nurse comes in two minutes later with rubber gloves.

Then the janitor passes your door, peeks in, and decides to try out those rubber gloves, too--heck, it looks like fun.

All at once there is this overwhelming urge to push. You try to concentrate (except they are all screaming, "don't push!"). You do the "hehehehehehe" breathing they taught you that is supposed to take away that urge to push.

Bull! More vicious lies! You can breathe all you want, and your body will still push--and push hard. It starts at your scalp and moves down in a big wave, and you feel your stomach muscles tighten and push down.

Sure enough, someone decides they better put on a pair of rubber gloves--it might be their last chance, you know.

They scurry around you, getting dressed for the big moment. The idiot has even managed to get to his feet. They wheel a huge mirror in and place it strategically so you can see everything down there. You scream for them to get the mirror out of the room. You don't need to see it. Isn't feeling it enough for them??

Man, these people are hateful. And mean.

Finally the doctor tells you to push. You do, because the pain will be over as soon as the baby comes out.

They see the head. Mid-push they tell you to quit pushing (are they serious?).

They take advantage of your temporary numbness to cut you, telling you it will help the baby come out faster (another lie--they just want you to go home with a 2 week reminder of that day).

They tell you to push again, but when you stop, the baby jumps back in, further in than he's ever been. Another push, same thing. They tell you you aren't doing it right. "Then do it for me!" you demand.

You push again. The head pops through. What fun. Then they tell you to stop pushing, which at this point is impossible because your body has taken over, and it's going to push come hell or high water.

"Stop!" they yell, as your baby flies out at the speed of sound and the doctor catches him like a football.

You fall back in the bed, spent. The baby cries. You cry. Idiot cries.

You want to hold your baby, but they are wiping him down and doing tests. Finally, they put your baby in your arms. He's perfect. You gaze up into the eyes of the idiot. You smile. You forgive him. It's not his fault he was born an idiot.

You look down at your baby and suddenly can't recall a day you didn't love him.

Two nurses start pushing on your stomach. The doctor inserts rubber gloved arm up to shoulder. You give birth to a 30 pound placenta. They begin stitching you up, and don't believe you when you say politely, "Hey, I can feel that."

Do you forget the pain? Only until you find yourself pregnant again, facing it.

Is it worth it? Absolutely.