Pregnancy is not beautiful.

Notes from the second trimester.

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I write about the quiet, complicated, and often contradictory parts of life—especially identity, home, and this new chapter of becoming a parent. This space is where I share honest storytelling, personal reflections, and moments that don’t always make it into casual conversations. If that sounds like your kind of thing, I’m so glad you’re here.

‘Pregnant Self-Portrait’ by Ghislaine Howard (1984)

I love this painting by Ghislaine Howard. It’s one of the very few paintings of its time that portrayed a pregnant woman from her own perspective, not through a male gaze. It’s such a realistic depiction of my experience so far: the tiredness, the pondering, the sulking, the plain and oversized clothes, and…resting.

When I tell people I am pregnant, they congratulate me and say it will be one of the most beautiful journeys in my life. I can see how, in theory, it might be: a new life growing inside me that will be forever connected to me, an extension of me, and the continuation of life.

I feel very lucky to have the privilege of being on this journey at all. I am grateful to have come this far along without any major issues. I understand that pregnancy is a necessary step toward becoming parents. Twenty-two weeks in, it has been a mostly smooth ride. It‘s been okay. I take it day by day. It’s tolerable, but I wouldn’t call it beautiful.

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“Morning sickness” is a myth.

During the first trimester, I was nauseated most of the time. Nothing seemed appetizing anymore. Even my favorite drink of the day, coffee, tasted like traditional Chinese medicine: pure bitterness with no flavor. I couldn’t stomach the smell of fish anymore. I’d rush to open all the windows in the living room and stick my head out just to get some fresh air, even though I used to love eating any kind of fish Arthur cooked before pregnancy. Every day was a challenge: discovering what kind of food I could still swallow.

“Morning sickness” really is a myth. I felt sick throughout the day, most acutely in the evenings. I felt bloated every night as if there was a balloon inflating inside me, always on the verge of throwing up but never actually doing so.

I gave up rock climbing and switched to gentler exercises on the days that I physically could. I take long walks, go on easy hikes, ride a stationary bike, and do yoga and pilates. Still, I’ve witnessed the muscles in my arms and legs soften as my belly has grown.

I was also tired. I’d crawl into bed by eight o’clock and just let myself pass out. I felt drowsy and tired half the week for no reason other than a baby is growing inside me, quietly sucking my strength away.

I know I’ve had it easy already. I am not throwing up three times a day like some people do. I have not felt completely exhausted to the extent that I had to take time off work to stay in bed all day. But still, it hasn’t been a breeze and it’s certainly not beautiful.

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It’s uncomfortable most of the time.

People say the second trimester gets easier. It did, in some way, but now, a new set of issues is starting.

I felt heartburn for the first time in my life and finally understood why heartburn is the word used to describe that particular sensation. Progesterone has relaxed all my internal organs to accommodate for the growing uterus, which makes digestion slower and more difficult. My midwife suggested that I move left to right to help the food slide through my esophagus more easily. So I do, and it does help. Every evening after dinner, I stand up and start swaying my body side to side while talking to Arthur about my day.

Do I feel beautiful, swaying from left to right to get my food to digest while burping out loud? I do not.

My growing belly has also made me realize how many daily tasks require bending over or bending down: doing laundry, tying my shoes, getting things out of the lower kitchen cabinets, and picking stuff up from the floor. These days, I let out a deep sigh every time I have to bend down. It squeezes my belly, which in turn makes me feel nauseated all over again.

I get uncomfortable after sitting down or standing up for too long. I shift around constantly to avoid feeling out of breath. It’s a sensation that I’ve never felt in my life before, like something very heavy is pressing down on me and choking me from the inside. I’ve stopped liking long car rides. I shift restlessly every fifteen minutes during quiet speaker events, looking like one of those distracted and impatient attendees who can’t wait to leave.

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It’s not all discomfort and bloating. There are magical moments, too - like the first time we heard the baby’s heartbeat at seven weeks over the ultrasound machine in the exam room. In that moment, I didn’t care about anything else as long as it kept beating like that. Or during the anatomy scan when we saw her sucking her thumb in one moment and stretching out her arms the next. Two weeks ago, I felt a very clear kick from her for the first time. It wasn’t like the week before, when I kept mistaking it for my stomach grumbling.

Just like Ghislaine Howard’s self-portrait, pregnancy is a lot of sulking in your own shadow, dealing with the discomfort and fatigue, and taking it day by day. It’s also a lot of pondering, about what’s coming next, whether the baby will be healthy, and how exactly life is going to change. There is, of course, the joy and excitement mixed in between. It’s everything, just not beautiful.

Last year, after some consistent encouragement from me, Arthur finally signed up for woodworking classes. For his intermediate class this spring, he asked me to help him choose between making a clock or a stool.

Easy, I said, a stool. I’ll need somewhere to sit eventually when I am putting my shoes on.

It looks like that time has already come. Thank goodness he finished his class just in time.

Here is the beautiful Ulm stool he made, now getting sanded and stained.

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I write about the quiet, complicated, and often contradictory parts of life—especially identity, home, and this new chapter of becoming a parent. If you’d like to support this kind of honest storytelling and receive more personal reflections like this, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your support helps keep this space going and means so much to me.

This Week’s Tiny Thoughts:

1. I really enjoyed reading Dr.

   Mara Gordon, MD
   ‘s latest piece Why I’m having only one kid. The choice of whether or not to have children—and how many—is nobody’s business but your own.

2. Ever since I started writing on Substack, I’ve been on the lookout for more Asian writers and creators to feel inspired by. Substack needs more diverse voices.

   Kristina Cho
   ‘s one of my recent discoveries, and here is a recent recipe to check out. I made her Lemon Miso Pound Cake this weekend. It’s so delicious! You can follow her recipes here: