You never understand life until it grows inside of you.
—Sandra Chami Kassis
He kissed my belly, “Just think. All the love that we have for each other, we put it in this safe place here.” He kissed my belly again.
When you moved, I felt squeezed with a wild infatuation and protectiveness. We are one. Nothing, not even death, can change that.
I love being pregnant. You can do whatever you want.
Being pregnant was the healthiest I’ve ever been in my life. Except for the cupcakes.
Every four weeks I go up a bra size…it’s worth being pregnant just for the breasts.
To be pregnant is to be vitally alive, thoroughly woman, and undoubtedly inhabited.
We can’t understand when we’re pregnant, or when our siblings are expecting, how profound it is to have a shared history with a younger generation: blood, genes, humor. It means we were actually here, on Earth, for a time—like the Egyptians with their pyramids, only with children.
God, my brain really goes to mush when I’m pregnant.
There are two sides to being pregnant. There is the beautiful, wonderful blessing side. The second side—it sucks!
It’s a great thing about being pregnant—you don’t need excuses to pee or to eat.
When you’re pregnant, you can think of nothing but having your own body to yourself again, yet after having given birth you realize that the biggest part of you is now somehow external, subject to all sorts of dangers and disappearance, so you spend the rest of your life trying to figure out how to keep it close enough for comfort. That’s the strange thing about being a mother: until you have a baby, you don’t even realize how much you were missing one.
Those first few weeks are an unearthly season. From the outside you remain so ordinary, no one can tell from looking that you have experienced an earthquake of the soul. You’ve been torn asunder, invested with an ancient, incomprehensible magic. It’s the one thing that we never quite get over: that we contain our own future.
I’m never as happy as when I’m pregnant. I literally would have 10 babies if I could!
I really like being pregnant. Not that there aren’t things I don’t love, but when I think about what my body is doing—creating a child—it just blows my mind. I’m in awe of the process and science.
When I was pregnant, I was so huge and people on the bus would get up for me. That made me feel so precious and valued and valuable. I try to treat everyone like they’re pregnant.
People always say that pregnant women have a glow. And I say it’s because you’re sweating to death.
I loved dressing for my pregnant body. A pregnant woman’s body is so beautiful. Towards the end, it does get harder, and then it became all about flats and comfortable maxi dresses.
When I was pregnant, I felt filled with life, and I felt really happy. I ate well, and I slept well. I felt much more useful than I’d ever felt before.
When you’re pregnant you just want to be comfortable—but I wear more or less the same as I do when I’m not pregnant: pregnancy denim with normal tops and flat shoes. But when the belly starts to really stick out, I’ll want the floaty dresses!
One thing that happens when you’re pregnant is that as your stomach starts to stretch. It itches! So I have to keep my belly really lubricated. Every morning, there’s a buttering ceremony after I get out of the shower. It’s really like basting a turkey with body butter.
I gained 60 pounds, and I’m proud of it. Why do I need to watch my weight when I’m pregnant? I could eat whatever the hell I want to eat.
You do a lot of growing up when you’re pregnant. It’s suddenly like, Yikes. Here it is, folks. Playtime is over.
I have these surreal moments where I’m like, ‘I’m pregnant with Jake Gyllenhaal’s baby’ and ‘I’m telling Robert Pattinson that he smells of sex.’ But you’re acting, so the focus is on the work.
When you’re suddenly pregnant and no one is standing by your side, even if you’re in your 30s, it’s a hard conversation. I’m a traditional girl, and I believe in marriage, and I just always thought that’s the way I’d be doing this.
Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.
I’ve noticed that since I’ve been pregnant I see babies everywhere. I love talking to them. I never used to really like kids that much. I guess it comes out of you naturally.
When you’re pregnant, things—at least for me—get very sincere and very wholesome, and it’s about family, and singing becomes about warmth.
I think that carrying a baby inside you is like running as fast as you can. It feels like finally letting go and filling yourself up to the wildest limits.
I begin to love this little creature, and to anticipate his birth as a fresh twist to a knot which I do not wish to untie. Men are spoilt by frankness, I believe, yet I must tell you that I love you better than I supposed I did, when I promised to love you forever….I feel it thrilling through my frame, giving and promising pleasure.