I am a terrible pregnant woman. The worst, maybe.

When I was carrying my first child, my daughter, I had a flower bulb in a pot in the kitchen window. It wasn’t growing fast enough. The stupid thing had sat there for months lazily basking in the perfect environment, refusing to flourish.

One day, very big in pregnancy, I walked into the kitchen to see that it was still not blooming, and began sobbing hysterically, saying, “And the stupid flower won’t even bloom!!!”

It felt personal, as if Mother Nature herself was cursing me, as if it were a sign that my flower wouldn’t bloom either.

Fortunately, my flower bloomed into a beautiful daughter, and the stupid plant eventually bloomed as well.