I’m finally ready to accept that I have a condition—it’s called pregnancy. Much like pregnancy brain, just the act of being pregnant seems to grant women immunity for certain things. So far, I’ve been automatically excused from staying out late, opening doors, walking across the street alone, and speaking in logical sentences. Being pregnant has also allowed me to have a built-in excuse to get away with things such as spilling drinks on myself, not carrying items, and forgetting entire conversations.
When I admit defeat or concede that I can’t necessarily do what I would pre-pregnancy, Arthur lovingly (and perhaps a bit patronizingly) tells me, “It’s okay, you’re pregnant.” This simple fact is also intended to reassure me when I get overly emotional about things. But rather than take it as an invitation to be less hard on myself or reevaluate my standards, I’ve previously considered it a challenge to try harder, be better, and prove people wrong. What can I say? I’m my mother’s daughter.
I’ve only now realized that I should take advantage while it lasts. After attending a recent wedding, it dawned on me that I should embrace this free pass. Not only can I do things that I normally would be ashamed of, such as getting extra slices of wedding cake, but I can easily impress people with what I am capable of, like boogying on the dance floor through the very last song.
No one else expects me to hold myself to a higher standard, so why should I? This grace period will only last for a little while (although I assume it gets replaced with the “You have a newborn” excuse immediately thereafter); I may as well enjoy it. Now that I’ve had my “aha” moment, though, I’ll do my best to reign it in and not go overboard. You know, give in to the perks in moderation—like only indulging in two or three slices of cake instead of four.