When you’re pregnant people tend to treat you kindly, gently, carefully, hold the door open for you and offer to bring your tea to your table so don’t have to carry it and tell you you look great and that you’re amazing, and I don’t know what this says about me but I love this part of being pregnant. I DON’T like unwelcomed stomach touches from dudes, which still happens? But beyond that, I am here for the special treatment, the empathy, the care. With Joe I experienced basically none of it because it was early pandemic and we went nowhere. But this time, I’m soaking it up, yes you CAN carry that for me and yes you CAN help me stand, how kind, and yes I WILL engage in this earnest conversation with you about my due date. I think it’s because I know that once I give birth, I’ll just be another woman who is tired, or sad, or stressed, but I’ll have to hold all of these big things inside, I won’t be allowed to wear them on my front, I won’t be cute or strong or invincible, at least not to the public eye, I’ll be another Mom with old yogurt on her pants and a crying kid who doesn’t want to share. But for now, for the these last precious weeks, I’m a goddess, I’m a delicate and magic orb, I require help and compliments, I need to be carried, and looked after, and Held.