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Giving birth is a miraculous, wonderful thing. Being pregnant however, is not. Let's face it folks, being pregnant is not what it is cracked up to be. I am the mother of nine children. And yes, they are all mine, contrary to popular opinion, I did not find any of them wandering around in the Wal-Mart parking lot and decide to take them home with me because they were "just so cute". I actually gave birth to them all.

Each pregnancy was different, unique, and LONG. Now I don't want to be a pessimist here, I mean there were some really great experiences during each of my pregnancies. Shopping, for one was fantastic, I really loved picking out baby clothes and furniture, and names. Each time there seemed to be some new product just begging to be tried out by the newly expectant mother. The self satisfied, beaming smile of my husband each time I told him was astounding. Even I figured after the first three kids it would become a scream of complete horror. Every time a pregnancy test came back positive, I imagined returning home from the doctors office only to find my husband running for the hills screaming like a little girl at the top of his lungs and pulling his hair out! Fortunately for me, my husband is a very understanding guy, most of the time.

The main thing I have always hated about being pregnant was the physical changes that occur during pregnancy. The "morning" sickness, the stretch marks, the bloating, the heartburn, diarrhea, and god help me, the occasional hemorrhoid. The damage to a woman's body can sometimes seem unrepairable. Well, you just have to work with what ya got and make the best of it.

The emotional changes during pregnancy are also very traumatizing to the unprepared. The feeling of helplessness, especially to a woman who is very independent, can be devastating. During pregnancy, I went from being a woman who was able to work on a construction site and keep up with the guys, to being a sickly little girl who couldn't lift a laundry basket full of clothes without exasperating effort. Breathlessness after climbing a flight of stairs was so annoying that I actually started using elevators, which I have always hated because I am a bit claustrophobic. It's a scary feeling to be so totally dependent on others for help.

The hormone changes were terrible, Lord, I would cry at the drop of a hat. Even polite criticism like, "Honey the meatloaf was great but it was a little dry" became an excuse for a total blowout argument during which I would

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