For some, when we become pregnant, it’s a joyous occasion and something desired. For others, due to a variety of reasons, it wasn’t a conscious choice and there’s a desire to end the pregnancy, usually as quickly, safely and efficiently as possible. Every person’s experience is different and it’s up to us to decide what it will be. We’re not all mothers, and we’re certainly not hosts (although that didn’t deter me from making jokes about my sweet, little parasite while pregnant — but I can do that because I was the one who was dealing with the almost five months straight of all-day nausea and massive food aversions).

My pregnancy, for all intents and purposes, was a relatively “easy” one. Despite the raging nausea and an end-of-pregnancy bout of Symphysis Pubic Dysfunction (trust me, it’s painful), most of my pregnancy was healthy and average. Sure, I was pregnant, but I was also holding down a full-time job while working on my masters. I had hobbies, friends and other things going on in my life. “Pregnant” was just one thing that defined me. To boil down pregnancy as Martin did to being either a “host” or “bearer of child” strips us of every other aspect of our identities, placing all value in our fertility. That’s pretty crappy