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Word Vomit at 18 Weeks Pregnant

I don’t think I am your “typical” pregnant lady. Honestly, I’m okay with this fact but the more pregnant I get, the more I wonder if society isn’t okay with it. Let me explain —
When people find out that you’re pregnant, they suddenly want to know every single, sometimes personal, detail. They want to know when you conceived and demand to know if you were trying. The common question is, “Are you happy about it?” My normal response, “Yes. Still scared shitless, but happy.”
Somehow, I’m not sure this is what people expect expect of me. 
They probably also don’t expect for me to say that we aren’t finding out the sex, or that we aren’t sharing names. They probably don’t understand why I’m not head over heels excited to help plan a shower or talk nonstop about our upcoming bundle of joy. I’ve been accused (more than once) of “sucking the fun” out of this pregnancy for other people. 
It might be counterintuitive because I have a blog, but deep down, I am really a private person. I can count my closest friends on a single hand and I don’t love being the center of attention. Instead, I like being the person in the corner, sipping on a glass of wine, and making sarcastic, yet witty and insightful remarks, about the day’s events. But when people know that you’re pregnant, suddenly, sarcasm is looked at like a disease and standing quietly in the corner is simply not allowed. You are “supposed” to be comfortable having people fawn over you and ask about everything you’ve eaten and the last time you puked.
But damn it — I will not change my personality. I just can’t. 
I know that motherhood will deeply change me. It will be eye-opening. But, can it change who I am at my very core? I don’t think so. At least, I hope it doesn’t. I really like who I am as a person. I didn’t for years honestly. I used to hate my nose or my short legs. I used to hate my voice and my stringy hair. Beyond the physical, I used to wonder if I was smart enough, charming enough, and compassionate enough to make anything of myself. I used to wonder if I had enough friends or whether I had too many. I would spend way too much time and effort trying to “measure up” against some perceived notion of who I should be. 
Now, I know who I am. I’m me. I’m flawed but I’m happy. I take on too many projects for someone who likes napping at such a high propensity. I enjoy making people laugh, but I enjoy sitting at home with a good book more. I am not the prom queen type, or even the homecoming court type. I am the drama nerd who likes to soak up sunshine in her own backyard more than on some luxury yacht. 
While I know that I already love this Little “Florken” more than anything, I am equally sure that it cannot undo nearly 29 years of self-discovery. There are a lot of things I don’t want to be; I don’t want to be the person who posts monthly updates on their kid. I don’t want to be the person who suddenly can’t carry on a conversation about anything other than cloth diapering or pacifier preferences. I don’t want everyone to suddenly call me “mom” just because one person has that right. I don’t want to be forced into the limelight when I’d rather stay home. I don’t want to force my child into the limelight of social media before they are old enough to really have a choice. I don’t want to criticize your parenting, but please respect my right to do things differently. I don’t want to become a “mommy blogger.” I just want to continue to be me… with a blog. That sometimes will include things about pregnancy or our kid. 
In short, I just want to be me… but with a baby. Personally, I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. But truly I suppose that only time will tell. 
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