The Swan Song of a Pregnant, Glowing Goddess


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I am pregnant Sara. The most important thing to know about me, is that I love being pregnant. I also love Dr. William Sears. I gobble up every bit of attachment-parenting literature I can find – with a spoon made of vintage pewter – BPA free. Of course I’ll co-sleep. Of course I’ll eat my encapsulated placenta. Perhaps flambéed? Of course I’ll baby-wear. Of course I’ll institute a long, private, baby-bonding period after the birth during which my husband, our baby and I can acquaint ourselves with the new shape of our family.

No visitors please. I plan to treasure each beautiful moment with my downy-headed, rosy-cheeked little wonder.

I will reinvent the role of the stay at home mother. I’ll retain my spark, my energy, my humor. I won’t look like a “mom” (frowsy, exhausted, worn), and people passing me in the aisles of the grocery store will assume I’m the fresh-faced au pair.

I will get dressed every day.

I’ll imbue my house with light and charm. I’ll turn homemaking into an art; make dish soap using herbs from my garden, adorn each nook and cranny of the house with unpretentious mason jars full of posies, embark upon outdoor adventures with my little ones, stun them with my impressive knowledge of flora and fauna. They’ll lisp the words “goldfinch,” “birch,” and “honeysuckle” with wonder at the wide, wide world, the magic of nature revealed to them through their mother’s wise eyes.

They’ll watch incredulously as their peers beg to watch Daniel Tiger or Paw Patrol. “Why?” they’ll ask, “The ever-shifting pattern of the clouds drifting across the sky is entertainment enough for us.”

I’ll foster a love of words and ideas. I’ll never tire of reading their favorite books just-one-more-time, and I’ll always do all the voices. I’ll read Anne of Green Gables to my daughter, and she will follow in Anne and Diana’s hallowed footsteps through the White Way of Delight and Violet Vale. She’ll hang on every word.

My children will shun plebian children’s book offerings like Sandra Boynton’s Doggies, and instead beg for another rendition of Wind and the Willows or a reading of A.A. Milne’s simple and lovely verses for wee ones.

I’ll make all of my baby food by hand (and with love). I’ll introduce organic beets and foraged mushrooms before marring my babies’ impressionable palettes with bland carbohydrates. I’ll shun macaroni and cheese in favor of quinoa casserole with slow roasted tomatoes. The idea of a kids’ menu is an anathema. My children will astonish onlookers with their sophisticated taste buds as they happily slurp down oysters and smear Brie onto toast. “More horseradish mummy!” It goes without saying that the little dears will refer to me as mummy rather than mommy.

The nursery will impress upon the sweet babes that lovely surroundings are good for the soul. They’ll rub their apple cheeks against washed Belgian linen pillowcases, and silently thank their lucky stars they’ve been born to such an enlightened flower of a mother. I’ll provide handcrafted wooden toys painted in non-toxic and subtle shades of lilac and buttercup, and politely inform friends and family that plastic is unwelcome in our home.

And most importantly, I’ll enjoy it all. Every moment. It will all be so captivating, so rewarding, and so fulfilling, so utterly interesting. Motherhood will come as naturally as breath, and my children will sense my innate wisdom, kindness and love, and grow to be funny, sweet, precocious darlings, and later, compelling, intelligent, thoughtful adults.

It will all be so natural, so simple, and really, so very easy.


Sara Petersen is a freelance writer with articles about girlhood, vulnerability, and parenthood published in Huffington Post, Bustle, and Bust. She blogs about children, pretty wallpaper, IPA, and friendship at

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