Dear Men,

Listen, I’m not a man-basher. I love men. You guys are great. I have several men in my life for whom I have an enormous amount of respect and love.

And if I’m being honest, I really wouldn’t want to be a man. Not just because your bodies look uncomfortable (which they do) or because I’d be missing out on some fabulous girls’ nights (which I would), but mainly because I think being a woman is awesome. All PMS and feminine hygiene products aside, this is a good club to be in.

Except for one thing.

Being pregnant kinda blows.

Other than about 12 blissful, quasi-normal weeks God squished right there in the middle for our sanity, these nine (plus) months are rough.

And did you know? God chose us, exclusively, to carry, labor, and deliver these children you implant within us. There is no “your turn.” 

So. Because you’ll never get to experience these life-creating, uterus-expanding, back-breaking 40 weeks we call pregnancy, I think it’s time we enlighten you.

Bladder control? Let’s talk about that.

You will wet your pants when you’re pregnant. You might even think your water broke, start crying, call your doctor, mom, and husband to tell them you’ve gone into early labor, and rush to the hospital only to be told you . . . wet your pants. Then, you might have to go back to work forced to tell everyone who has been praying for you (EVERYONE), “No, I, in fact, was not in labor. I just wet my pants.” 

You don’t know hunger.

Pregnant hunger is the type of hunger that makes you feel like you are going to throw up unless you eat something RIGHT. THIS. SECOND. Hungry while you want to puke? It’s the worst paradox in the history of the world. 

Standing up is so hard.

Every time we sit down, lie down, bend down, look down, our entire back becomes one giant ball of angry nerves. So we master the “roll onto side, prop up on one arm, push up to knees, find something sturdy to pull up on” method.

There are no words to describe the exhaustion.

This is the kind of tired that extends beyond drowsy, way past fatigued, right into dead-man-walking territory. 

YET, we can’t sleep.

I know, I know. But we’re so tired! This doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about creating a human inside your body from a minnow and an egg makes sense. 

Don’t ask us why we’re crying.

We don’t know. Don’t say, “Well, there must be some reason.” Because then we will start thinking really hard, and we might come up with a reason that is, in fact, not the reason at all (because, seriously, there’s not one). And then we will pick a fight with you about this non-reason which will only make us cry harder.

Two words: mom brain.

God grants us the ability to forget what pregnancy is like, thus forgetting pretty much everything else, so we will continue getting pregnant. It’s genius, really. Just don’t expect us to remember where we put our keys ever again. 

Dads, we’re not asking that you carry the next one. We’re not asking that you rub our feet every night or bring us breakfast in bed (but we won’t turn it down). We’re not even asking that you feel sorry for us, because the truth is, as crazy as it sounds we really love this job. I mean, we get to be walking miracles for nine-months. 

We’re just asking that you add a dollop of patience for the time being. We ask that you give us hugs when we’re being bat-shackles-crazy, tell us we look beautiful when our faces are as round as our bums, and let us take a few naps on occasion when our eyelids literally will not stay open. Because it’s not just our bellies that are changing, it’s our entire world.

And we all know we don’t have the emotional stability to handle that kind of thing right now on our own.

Originally published on the author’s blog

Jordan Harrell

Jordan writes about the days with her three kids and wonderful husband to help her get through the days with her three kids and wonderful husband. She's really good at eating chocolate, over-analyzing everything, and forgetting stuff. In 2017, Jordan founded, a blog and boutique that serves as a ministry for coaches' wives. You can find her at jordanharrell.comFacebookInstagram, or Twitter.