I was so happy when my daughter was born. Following the C-section, while I was on the operating table, a nurse announced that I was no longer pregnant. I replied fervently, "Thank the LORD!" I don't know whether I was more happy to meet Claire or more happy to not weigh 41 additional pounds, feel constantly nauseous, and have a small, internal creature pummelling my sciatic nerve on a nightly basis.
Prior to the pregnancy, I was not exactly a misanthrope. However, I did usually assume that people were a) primarily selfish, b) generally untrustworthy, and c) mainly concerned about what they were going to eat for lunch. Although this may be true of some, my general assumptions about humanity changed for the better during the nine months of continual pain and suffering I endured. (Did I mention that pregnancy is not fun?)
For one thing, I have never had so many doors held for me. People always wanted to help me carry my groceries to my car. People let me go in front of them in line. People I barely knew gave me beautiful baby gifts. Strangers (men especially) felt entitled to tenderly, nostalgically, and intrusively lay hands on my belly and inform me that I was not going to sleep for the next 20 years. In addition, coworkers, friends, and family threw five baby showers for me. It was all very humbling.
By the time Claire's due date was fast approaching, I was less concerned about the state of the world she was about to enter. Along with Claire was to be born a renewed sense of optimism and trust in the world around me. I was able to smile unreservedly and say "Placenta!" before each camera flash at each baby shower. And mean it.
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