Pugmire Family

Pregnancy One versus Pregnancy Two:

Let me explain: this is a picture from my first pregnancy…the one where I didn’t know what was going one…the one where I made all the wrong decisions. First there was the weight gain. I had never felt such horrid sickness day in and day out and while I really didn’t enjoy eating, eating was the only thing that helped limit the nausea. OK, full disclosure: around 20 weeks, I actually started to enjoy eating again and then I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me. There was even an incident involving my husband throwing my McDonald’s french fries out the window of the car in pure disgust at my rapacious appetite. Was it some hormonal imbalance in my first pregnancy that induced me to get a horrendous haircut? Why did I think a bob would be a good idea? Wasn’t my face round enough at that point? Did I really need a hairstyle to accentuate that roundness? And oh, those clothes! I bought them on some discount maternity online store. I’m pretty sure they were leftovers from the early 90’s. I remember receiving compliments from some co-workers (the ones who thought business dress was a nice pair of sweat pants) saying that they appreciated that I was wearing matronly maternity clothes instead of those modern-day (translate as stylish) maternity clothes young (hip, gorgeous) pregnant girls were wearing. I should have gone straight home to burn all those matronly clothes then and there. And why did I decide that it was a good idea to stop wearing make-up? Daniel confessed to me (post-pregnancy) that in my final weeks, he had come across my old driver’s license photo from New Hampshire and had almost started crying at how beautiful I had been. You know it’s bad when your husband thinks an old driver’s license picture is prettier than what you have become.

So, I’ve learned my lesson. I bought some stylish shirts that my former co-workers would not approve of, I’ve limited food consumption…sorta, I’ve stayed away from the beauty salon, and I put on make-up each and every day. That last one is even a step up from the pre-pregnancy days. Maybe this way, my husband won’t go into a deep funk when I tell him in a few years that I’m ready to get knocked up again.