For women's eyes only.

Now that I put that as my title and I know it's just us girls sharing in this blog, I decided it's high time for me to share my birthing videos on my blog. They're not edited at all, because I didn't want to take away from the sheer beauty of it all. So just free your minds and enjoy the miracles.

No, that's not true. But some people do that crap.

I couldn't figure out a good catchy title for this post. I thought of, "How pregnancy prepares you to relate to the children you bear," or "How pregnancy makes you more empathetic to tiny tots," or, "How you revert to infancy and toddlerhood while pregnant," or "Who am I?: introspections and observations while swollen with child," or "Newt versus Romney: a closer look at the issues that matter most." So any of them will do. Except for the last one. Not the last one at all. Forget I said anything about them, it's just that my husband... you already know.

So. Here is it. I really do think being pregnant has it's ways of turning back the hands of time and making little children out of us. Here's how.

1. Complete and utter loss of control of bodily functions. Spontaneous and projectile urination during pregnancy needs a blogpost of its own. (Well maybe not projectile, but spontaneous, yes.) So, we'll consider that similarity discussed. But what about gas. I'm sorry. Don't let me make you squirm here. And if you're reading this, don't be any guy I've ever dated, okay? Didn't you read the title?? You have to show your uterus card before you're permitted to read. So anyway, the thing is, I'd like to think I'm typically pretty lady like in my marriage. I am polite to my husband and don't like to gross him out. And he pays me the same respect. We close the door when we use the restroom. We try to avoid gas passage in close proximity. He's respectful in this way and usually not your typical gross guy who gets a kick out of this sort of thing. Neither of us are too amused by it. But all bets are completely off when I'm pregnant. I still don't like to gross him out, but it's not about what's within my control at this point. It's about space in my abdomen. And a human being inside that kicks and moves things out of her way. And the only thing I can say when he looks at me in disgust is, "I'm pregnant." Because I think maybe he's forgotten. And then he's like, "Oh yeah!" and we both let out a good hearty laugh and hi-five.

I have a near anxiety attack every time I'm in public or with friends, because I just don't if something will be expelled or not. It's a guessing game of hit or miss, and I consider myself lucky when I miss.

The other day I was holding Scarlett in Target and a woman stopped to talk to me and ask me if I knew where something was and this was the time Scarlett felt it was the right moment to expel a large amount of gas into the atmosphere. And it was actually so loud, that she basically muted the woman; as in I saw her mouth moving, but heard nothing, so I had to ask her to repeat herself. But I can relate to Scarlett. And sometimes I wish we were all so free and unjudged.

2. Spontaneous and involuntary ugly-faced crying. Scarlett knocked her head on the wall this morning and immediately burst into big wailing tears. As she was toddling toward me for some proper loving, I was thinking, What if adults all burst into tears like this... as many times a day as she does? and sortof laughed to myself. Until it occurred to me that I actually basically do. If Jason is stingy with sharing his food, tears will ensue. If I say something trying to be funny when we're hanging out with a new couple and then look to him for back up but he just sortof stares shifty eyed at the floor and makes me feel stupid and creates a real awkward moment for us all, I'll definitely bring it up later to him and then I'll cry about it (happened this week). If he completely ignores texts like this:

Or responds in an irritated way, I'll cry about it. (P.S. And don't let those flowers show up in a box. Presentation is everything, don't you know?) Or if he's stops while he's channel surfing and watches the the "edited" version of Wedding Crashers on TV for a minute, and a particularly crude scene comes on, I'll ask him to turn the channel and then cry about it. Burst into ugly face crying. And it will launch me into a huge tirade about how I need to know he's on the same page as me as far as what's appropriate and what is inappropriate media to bring into our home and where we will draw the line, and how the world is going to hell in a hand basket and what our responsibility is as we're bringing tiny, innocent, pure souls into it. This happened at about week 11 of this pregnancy. I'm thinking about 90% of my irrational crying is directed towards Jason. Then I save the remaining 10% for road rage and sappy movies and any experience that is remotely spiritual in any way. Flood gates. I sortof feel bad for Jason. I know it's gotta be like walking on a minefield for him.

But then I remember I'm giving him supremely beautiful babies and he gets to be their idolized hero for the rest of their lives. And it helps me feel a little better. And then we watch the The Bachelor, and it's good for our marriage, because it reminds him of what he could have married. Because those girls are more bat-shiz crazy than I am and they are not pregnant. And then sometimes we cry together because they're just so nuts on that show.

Don't I look like an ape in this pic? Pretty awesome. I love him. A lot. My husband, that is. Not the Bachelor. Can't really stand him much after last night's episode.

Point is: I'm more empathetic to my children's' illogical outbursts of emotion that happen several times a day. And joining in myself makes me a better mom. I just know it.

3. Embracing the fact that your body is not your own. See, when your pregnant, people are touching you in strange and unfamiliar ways. Strangers touch your belly, which I've actually always been quite comfortable with. But your OBGYN does other strange things, not to mention the experience of labor and delivery. Fact is, you're exposed in basically every way humanly possible. And it becomes pretty casual. I realized my babies bodies aren't really quite their own yet either, are they? I wipe bums, I wipe noses, I clean out eye gunk and ears, I do hair, I dress them (Scarlett at least), etc, etc, etc. The list goes on. It must be kindof frustrating for them. Actually I know it is. Lucy's very vocal about her feelings of my grooming, and Scarlett's following right along in her footsteps.

Pregnancy gets you comfortable with your body being on loan. I mean you've sortof gotta be to avoid insanity. When Jason and I were first married, he came with me to a routine check up at the OBGYN, came back into the room with me. Poor chap; his eyes were bugged out of his head for several days after that, couldn't really shake him out of it. He was a quaking, trembling mess; afraid of his own shadow for a time.

And now after having 2 babies and preparing for a third, he realizes how G-rated that first little check-up was. Am I making my doc sound like a creep? Because he's not. He's completely professional in every way. But it is what it is, isn't it?

So, motherhood lends your body out for a time. Pregnancy and nursing are all consuming in this way. But even still once they get a little older. Scarlett's thing when I'm looking at something she doesn't want me paying attention to, she grabs my face and forces it towards her, and yells, "Mommy!!" as loud as she can. Not in a gentle way whatsoever. She's starting to be a real bully. This happens in our house 12-17 times a day.

But this happens just as much, so she lures me back in just when I'm really fed up. It's called "battered-mother syndrome".

Not only am I crawled all over and followed/bullied around all day, but the other day I tried a new pregnancy yoga video that I ordered (I actually love it) and for some reason the fact that my legs were in lunge position and my arms stretched out made it free game for Lucy (3.5 years old) to rub her hands furiously all over my belly, buns and chest. It was a total free-for-all. I'm not sure why she had this reaction to my doing pregnancy yoga. Upward/downward dog position was even worse. But as many times as I'd push her off, she'd circle back around for some more furious rubbing and motor-boating of my belly. It was like she was rubbing barbeque sauce all over a ham for basting. But her enthusiasm for it was somewhat alarming. It made for a really really relaxing mediation/yoga session.

The truth is, I'm poked and prodded and rubbed on so much that strangers may be able to sneak up in a crowd and cop a feel or give a tushie squeeze in public and I wouldn't even notice it. That's not an invitation. Just a reality. Point is: My body is not my body anymore. Not sure when it'll be mine again, but I'm okay with it.

Okay. Just needed to get some things off my chest. And I wanted to convince both you and me that being a bit batty will make you and me better moms in the long run.