on being 26 weeks pregnant

I rarely talk about anything remotely personal on this blog. (I mean true personal feelings, not life events.) But today I am feeling compelled to say something about being pregnant. Must be the hormones.
Eric is obsessed with Adam Carolla. Obsessed. And Adam Carolla had a morning show with a woman named Teresa Strasser. So naturally, Eric points me in her direction because she is pregnant as well. So I spent a bit of time today looking at her blog. And came away feeling extremely smug about my pregnancy. Is that wrong? Maybe.
But it's not just her. It's all the pregnancy garbage I feel compelled to read/look at/sift through. And the feeling of how it is all designed to make us feel guilty about the choices we make. Like picking a car seat has to be an epic battle of emotion and stress. Ridiculous. Not Teresa. She herself is no more ridiculous than anyone else, and honestly probably less so because she has the guts to admit how she feels. But ridiculous that pregnancy and birth has to be so judged, picked at, generally uncomfortable. Because honestly. Does it really matter if I have a cup of coffee? Or buy the carseat that's on sale? Or get an epidural? No. Not to anyone else but me.
So, back to feeling smug. Maybe that's the wrong word. It's probably the wrong tone at least. I think what I am feeling smug (lucky?) about is that generally I am at peace with this whole process. And I'm not apologizing to anyone about that. Sorry. You can't make me feel bad about feeling happy with my decisions and my path. And if I am drinking a caffeinated soda during my 12(!) hour night shift your disapproving look rolls right off. And you can't make me do anything I don't want to do. Especially if I'm putting my feet up.

Edited to add:
There's a great conversation going on in the comments section of this post on Dooce today. I absolutely especially love #59.