If you graduated in the late ’90s, you might remember “Wear Sunscreen,” the faux commencement speech by columnist Mary Schmich. It was so ubiquitous that Baz Luhrmann even turned it into a song and all the radio stations ran it on repeat. The advice is timeless; I played it for my sophomores every year during our mini unit on aphorisms, and they always connected with several “truth nuggets,” as I called them. (The kids’ overwhelming favorite: “Do one thing every day that scares you.”)
The whole thing is a laundry list of beautiful suggestions, but the speech cleverly concludes with some advice about advice: “Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia.” And it’s right around now — when the joy and amazement and pain and fear surrounding the birth process has started to fade — that I start to miss being pregnant.
I always do.
In the middle of it, sometimes it seems to take forever. So many months with no alcohol, so many uncomfortable symptoms, so many nights wondering if you will EVER sleep again or if you might as well just move into the bathroom because you literally have to pee again AS you are flushing. Continue reading