Sometimes it seems to me that the overwhelming part of modern motherhood is lived under the slogan “If you’re not exhausted, you’re not a mother.” The pressure begins the moment you register at the prenatal clinic and will probably continue until retirement. I’m sure there are wonderful places and wonderful people—I’ve been fortunate to encounter some—but overall, things aren’t all that rosy.
My district gynecologist, who oversaw my first two pregnancies, was a prime example of a nightmare for a first-time mother. “Got knocked up?” she asked me sternly during my first visit in my first pregnancy. “What date should I book your abortion for?” was the first thing I heard from her the second time. Nowadays, I would probably set clear boundaries, or maybe I’d still be caught off guard, mumbling something like, “We were planning…”
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