4 Things I Wish I’d Known Before I Got Pregnant

But first, a small note about why this newsletter is so late.

Welcome back to Hi Everyone. I’m so glad you’re here! If you like what you’re reading, please consider sharing this newsletter with your community and following @hillarykerr on Instagram.

Before we begin, a note.

I started writing this piece a few months ago. And then the Supreme Court’s majority opinion draft for overturning Roe v. Wade was leaked, so I put this story on hold. Because while I absolutely love being a mom, I love it because I chose to become one when I was emotionally, financially, and mentally ready. It is the best thing that has happened to me and the most challenging, and the thought of stripping women of their personal autonomy—making them second-class citizens who no longer have control over their own bodies—and forcing them to give birth is horrific. (To say nothing of the numerous personal, heartbreaking, or unimaginable situations that require this healthcare choice.) So I donated to the Yellowhammer Fund, Texas Access Fund, and Planned Parenthood, and figured I’d try again later.

And then the horrific mass murder in Uvalde, Texas, happened a few days ago, and honestly, I’ve been unable to do much of anything besides cry, donate to Everytown, and call my senators and representatives.

I don’t understand why we don’t have common sense gun laws. I don’t understand why we don’t treat guns like cars, and require registration, lessons, and a license, at minimum. I don’t understand why anyone—especially a teenage civilian—is allowed to purchase assault-style weapons that shoot incredibly lethal, high-velocity bullets that were designed to maim and murder. And I very much don’t understand why, considering that the VAST MAJORITY of Americans support things like universal background checks, our elected Republican representatives refuse to do anything about it. I’m furious, in fact. And you should be too.

So that is why today’s newsletter is late. Because writing about anything feels inane right now. But here we are, and here we go.

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Over the last year, I’ve been processing the fact that I’m done having children. You’d think this would be an easy task given the fact that I was born without a biological clock and also had two complicated pregnancies in the space of 22 months, but closing the door on this part of my life has been surprisingly difficult. If I’d had an easier time of it—or more straightforward third trimesters, to be specific—I’m guessing we’d have a third kid by now, but unfortunately, that’s not really an option for me, healthwise. (And by that I mean I don’t think my mental health could take another round, even if my physical body could.)

It’s bittersweet on a number of levels—we have two incredible children, and I know how fortunate we are—in part because I feel like I’ve finally figured out some of the secrets of pregnancy that I desperately wish I’d known earlier. Because spoiler alert: No matter how educated you are or how much you think you know about the process, there’s still a fair amount of information gatekeeping that happens, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom.

So as part of my own coming to terms with the end of my reproductive journey, I figured it might help to share some of those learnings, as I hope it could help anyone who is thinking about having kids. Now, just to set expectations clearly, this isn’t about fertility or conceiving or anything on that front—there are many subject-matter experts and incredible resources that can help, like Loom, which is a brilliant digital destination built by doula turned CEO Erica Chidi that focuses on educating people about every stage of their sexual health and reproductive journey—but rather some of the practical nuts and bolts of things to consider, which is information I wish I’d gotten ahead of time.

Unfortunately, I don’t even know if I could have really absorbed much of the information I’m sharing, as I was (am?) a horrible combination of arrogant and superstitious. I figured that having a baby wasn’t particularly complicated, as humans have managed to do it forever, and that my superior research skills could handle whatever additional information I needed.

Additionally, because I didn’t have my first kid until I was 38, I was deeply aware of the fact that a happy outcome was not a guarantee. So to cope with the uncertainty of the process, I became very superstitious and secretive. Needless to say, I was wrong, humbled repeatedly, and definitely made things harder for myself than they probably needed to be.

Long story long: Don’t make my mistakes, please.

Also, this probably goes without saying, but I will anyway: Parenting makes me feel incompetent every single day, and I would never want to add to anyone’s burden in this department. If you are unable to do any of these things I’m writing about today, just remember I didn’t do a single one, and my kids are fine. So take it with a grain of salt. And finally, just another reminder that having the time and space to consider any of these things is a privilege, especially in a country without universal healthcare, paid parental leave, or any sort of support for new parents. (And don’t get me started on the formula crisis, because I’m so furious I might implode. Anyway!)

Pick your exercise before you get pregnant.

Generally speaking, most ob-gyns are delighted if you want to exercise during your pregnancy, but they don’t thrill to the idea of you starting something new, which was a shock to hear. So if there’s a class you’ve wanted to try for a while or a new-to-you style of workout you’re curious about, it’s best if you start it before you are pregnant. This wasn’t a particularly big deal for me, because I’m pretty much just about that trampoline life, but I remember feeling shocked when I got this news.

Do genetic screenings before you get pregnant, if you can.

I didn’t know much about genetic screening prior to being pregnant, and I wish I had been more informed about the process. Once I was pregnant with my first kid, I did Natera’s Horizon test, which was covered by insurance, luckily, and found out that I have a very rare, single gene mutation that is associated with a severe syndrome.

This mutation does nothing on its own, but if your partner also has it, then there is a 1 in 4 chance your child will have it, and unfortunately, if that happens, the baby rarely survives beyond the first year of life. Even worse, while it’s extremely rare for the general population to be a carrier for this particular syndrome, once I was flagged, we found out it’s much more common in certain ethnic groups, like French Canadians, which is my husband’s background.

Doctors don’t normally test both partners upfront, because many genetic issues are X-linked disorders, so after my test came back, we had to race to get my husband tested. And I say “race” because if he were a carrier too, then we would have had to test the baby, and if the baby were positive, our doctor at the time strongly suggested terminating, as the disorder is so incompatible with life. And to make matters even worse, I was almost at the end of my first trimester, so if termination was required, it needed to happen as quickly as possible because even in 2017 in California, second-trimester abortions are difficult to access.

There was a lot more to it—including some significant issues with Natera, which made mistakes in processing my husband’s blood sample, which further delayed an already super-time-sensitive problem—but thankfully he is not a carrier, and so we didn’t have to go down that road any farther. Needless to say, it was a wildly, horrifically, terrifyingly stressful time, and all could have been avoided if we’d known about testing before I got pregnant.

If you’re interested in concealing your pregnancy for as long as possible, start making small wardrobe shifts (if applicable) sooner rather than later.

Due to the aforementioned superstition, I didn’t want to talk about either pregnancy with anyone other than my doctor and my husband until I was past the 20-week anatomy scan. Knowing this was my plan, I started tweaking the way I dressed pretty much from the moment of my first positive pregnancy test.

My new best friend? Blazers, specifically oversized blazers. I quickly started phasing out my pencil skirts paired with tucked-in blouses and T-shirts and brought in lightweight third pieces like utility jackets, overshirts, or shackets. Is this trickier in warm weather? Yes, but lightweight linen or silky iterations of these third pieces will be your friend in these moments.

That said, when someone drastically changes their personal style from more formfitting pieces to slouchy ones, some folks might take notice, but only the rude ones will ask why you’re changing your look. When questioned, I found a flat look and a pointed response (“Why are you asking?” “Why are we talking about my body right now?”) was enough to shut it down, usually.

Plan for support.

I didn’t have birth doula or postpartum doula because I a) thought they were only for rich people and/or crunchy folks b) was unenthused by the thought of having a stranger in my personal space and c) figured that whatever I needed to know about labor I’d sort out in the hospital.

(Full confession: I was also terrified to make plans because what if I went to all the work of finding support and then something horrible happened and I didn’t need them? This is also the same reason I refused a baby shower and didn’t set up a nursery.)

Well, it turns out that I was right-ish, in that I had my first kid early while on a work trip in New York, and he was breech, so there was no pushing involved. The one silver lining of having a baby in the NICU is that we were put through baby-care boot camp by the incredibly knowledgeable nurses, who taught us how to do everything. I shudder to think about trying to figure all of that out on our own the first time around.

The second time, things were less chaotic, but when I walked in to deliver my second kid, I had no idea what I was doing. I kid you not: I hadn’t taken a class, read a book, or talked to a single person about the actual pushing logistics of my VBAC. (And truthfully, I probably would have had another C-section if I’d fully known what was in store for me.)

Again, the amazing labor and maternity nurses were great, but honestly, I remember wishing—literally in the middle of labor—that I’d actually talked to someone about the right way to push. Because while whatever I did eventually worked, I trashed my pelvic floor in the process, and the aftermath of said labor resulted in pretty significant pain when I walked for nearly eight months after giving birth.

And then once we got home after the second kid, I pretty quickly realized that I would need some lactation support. I’d exclusively pumped for a year with my first kid and hadn’t really prepared for breastfeeding, because once again, I was arrogant and figured if folks had been doing this for all of humanity, how hard could it be? Turns out that for me, it wasn’t a complete breeze, and having some help—and confirmation that things were working exactly as they should—gave me great peace of mind.

All of this is to say that if you are clueless about babies, like I was, or you don’t have family who can help (or you don’t want them to, which is totally fine), I very much would suggest setting up some resources for yourself ahead of having the baby. Many doulas have sliding-scale fees, which make them far more accessible than I realized, and the same is true for many lactation consultants.

I wish these resources were easy to find and available to everyone, and it horrifies me that the American healthcare system doesn’t support new moms the way they are supported in almost every other first-world country. I found the process to be confusing, difficult, and costly—and this is coming from someone who is unquestionably privileged and lucky in a hundred different ways—and it makes me furious that these services are not more affordable, accessible, and universal.

As always, thank you for being here, and thank you for sticking around. If you have any questions or concerns, or want me to touch on any topics in particular, I’m all ears. Leave a comment on Hi Everyone’s Bulletin or DM me on Instagram—I’m @hillarykerr—my inbox is always open!