My first pregnancy – a conclusion

Being pregnant is not always nice and I’m not a huge fan – and I think it’s totally ok to admit that you don’t enjoy it in parts. Getting big, not being able to see your own feet, paternalism and the bad manners of strangers are all part of it.

Even though I wasn’t bothered by the summer heat at the beginning of February, I was glad to finally be able to hang up the pregnancy chapter for the time being.

Were these 41 weeks particularly bad? No. I didn’t have any terrible pain in the first pregnancy, such as the much feared symphysis problems. That only came in pregnancy number two.

Was it particularly nice? In parts. I can’t claim to have loved every second of pregnancy. And I don’t believe one bit that a woman who tells me exactly that is telling the truth soberly and without hormone influence. Who doesn’t think it’s kind of silly to suddenly be patronized by their favorite person(s), whether it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner? When suddenly every fried egg (attention, still almost raw!), every slice of raw ham or salmon (attention, absolutely raw and nasty!), yes, every morsel that wanders from one’s own plate into one’s mouth, is critically eyed and must first obtain the approval of one’s own partner before it may be eaten?

I would like to claim for myself that I was a reasonably informed pregnant woman, meaning: I knew about the risks caused by salmonella and other pathogens hiding in food. If any of that was in the zero-comma range, I mostly ignored it.

However, I was physically healthy at all times during pregnancy, and every pregnant woman should be allowed to decide for herself what is allowed and what is not, without a guilty conscience, based on her health history. I consciously took the risk of eating things that are not recommended in Germany. (Did you know that the Japanese explicitly recommend sushi because raw fish contains many good omega-3 fatty acids? A no-go in this country.)

And just as well, every now and then I chose not to use the next traffic light to cross the street, but to just walk “wildly” across the two lanes when there was no motorized road user in sight. Being run over or eating raw food poses about the same danger to life and limb, to mother and child, in my eyes. – I do not want to minimize anything here. And every pregnant woman should decide for herself how much risk she is willing to take. This is merely my subjective opinion.

Because, of course, I prefer to eat meat or fish that does not already stink to high heaven or is expired and looks strange.

Dear people who want to touch pregnant bellies: Would you – unpregnant – like to be pinched in the butt without being warned?

The last point that stuck in my mind was the unasked touching of my belly. From the close family like mother or sister you expect that yes and see it coming – and that is nice in my eyes, you know where it comes from and you know the touches of these people.

What is not nice at all, in contrast, is when strangers do it without being asked! It only happened to me once, but I was too flabbergasted to really say anything against it. A colleague at work was obviously happy for me at a meeting in a larger group – so far, so good and nice of her – but when she then approaches me and strokes my belly, it goes too far. Especially since I only knew her by sight and we had just exchanged a few words at all. I can only encourage you pregnant women: say something if you don’t like it! In retrospect, I would have liked to, but you’re usually not that quick-witted until it’s too late.

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