My health insurance company sent me a booklet called "Your Journey Through Pregnancy."  It is a wonderful little book full of development calendars, eating guides, tips to beat nausea, info on tests and gestational diabetes, and all kinds of other stuff.

But I can't help feeling that they left a few things out. 

Now that the nausea is mostly past, I'm supposed to be in the wonderful second trimester, the honeymoon phase of pregnancy.  But I can't help wondering how many women feel instead as though they are about to collapse under the pressure of change, exhaustion, and hormones.

I understand why no one has told me "You look great," "You are glowing," or "What a cute pregnant lady you are."  Because the truth is, I look almost as run down as I feel.  Any glowing I do at this point comes directly from an overdose of bronzer used to cover up acne and dark circles.

Perhaps this is part of why I haven't exactly been excited to take and post belly pictures.  Well, that, and that despite being three times the size I was three months ago, people around me generally say I'm "not showing." 

The insensitivity of others is astounding, and quite frankly, beginning to get under my skin more than the lotion I constantly apply in a vain attempt to stop the itching!

As I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower yesterday, I told myself it was going to be a great day, and that I was going to go to church the way I should: happy, joyful, eager to learn, friendly, and ready to reach out and serve others.  By the time we left the house, I was beginning to feel just that way.

As I entered the building, my smile had become genuine and I was ready to reach out and shake the hand of... well, if not everyone that was in the building, at least those I knew, or wanted to know better, or who were in the vicinity.

A dear woman came over to give me a quick hug and ask how I am doing.  "Fine," I said. 

"But you've been sick, haven't you?" she asked.  As good-intentioned as she is, I'm not entirely sure she knows I'm expecting.

"I haven't felt that well, no."

"Well, it shows," she said.  

Normal Alissa would have brushed this off, accepted it as kind that she would take time to notice I was unwell, and thanked her for her concern.  Pregnant Alissa, on the other hand, was shocked, wounded, and had absolutely no response for this comment. 

With the smile on my face now far less sincere, I sat, wishing the service would just start and that I could shrink into the corner.  But alas, valuable talking minutes remained before one of the bishopric would greet us and the singing would start. And so, another very kind and serving woman made her way over to me.  

"Did you do _____________?" she briskly asked. 

"No," I answered, knowing full well, that no one probably felt worse than I did about the fact that I had not served in that way.

But she continued, asking more questions and pointing out reason after reason that I had no excuse for not having done what she was telling me to do. 

By the time she left me, there was no trace of a fake smile on my face. I was too choked up to sing any of the opening hymn and I silently brushed away tears through the opening prayer also.  By the time announcements had been made and the second hymn began I had pulled myself together just enough to sing most of the words, but I admit that I didn't really smile or greet anyone else that morning.

This is not a pity party.  Honestly.  This is an explanation that I now understand pregnancy a little better; that I know how it is to feel that it is impossible to pull oneself out of the hormone haze.

I am so very glad I have a child on the way.  I am incredibly blessed to have a little alien growing in me.  I am fortunate to be learning more about motherhood firsthand.  I am eager to hold my own baby in my arms.

But I ultimately want to say to my friends: If you are pregnant, now or someday, call on me.  I want to listen to you, answer your questions, empathize with you, laugh with you, cry with you.  I want you to know that when you feel more overburdened than overjoyed, that's normal.  If you find yourself bursting out of your bra, and accidentally purchase something that makes you look as though you've strapped two torpedoes to your chest, I will sympathize with you and tell you I've been there, done that, and--let's be real here--probably laugh.  If your face looks more like a dot-to-dot, than a glowing gem, I will understand.  If you have no motivation to, well, do anything of any kind, I will assure you it is just the hormones and you will be fine. 

And beyond that, should you ever find yourself in need of a shoulder for any other reason, like a death, a wedding, a breakup, a graduation, or whatever it is, I want to be there for you.  Please don't ever feel like you can't turn to me.  Tell me it's important.  I will do what I can for you. 

If I have ever been less than understanding with you, if I've ever been less attentive than I should, if I've ever said something that made you cry, please know that it was completely unintentional, and that I am deeply sorry.

If you want to talk (complain?) about infections, cleavage-popping maternity clothes, nausea, or whatever, talk with me.  If you need someone to make you hot white chocolate with peppermint extract, or hot milk with honey, or (depending on what time of year it is) stuff you full of orange creamsicles or ice cream Snickers, tell me.  I love you, friends, and I want you to know it and I want you to be the happiest and the best you can be. 

So, live long and prosper, and in the meantime, remember that you are not alone!