There’s something about the phrase “fallen pregnant” that inspires immediate rage in me. First, there’s the fact that it can feel resonant of a fallen woman – one who’s scuppered her social standing, found herself pregnant or otherwise behaved in an immoral way not conducive to polite society.
Mostly, though, it’s how accidental it sounds. As if you’ve tripped over a rock, only to stand up and find you’re six months along. Often, when people say it, I imagine myself halfway down a well, calling for the good village folk to come and rescue me – the literal and figurative fallen woman.
I didn’t “fall” pregnant. Nor does anyone in the way it implies. It’s a number of processes, coincidences, hormones and chemicals coming together in just the right sequence to create a brand new being. It’s an incredible feat of nature that can come after months, years, decades of trying; of stretching minds and budgets to accommodate a new member of your family and after keen loss, pain, effort, uncertainty and hope.
It bothered me so much that it kept coming up in conversation. Or, I kept bringing it up. Semantics. Interestingly, it wasn’t the only phrase to set people’s teeth on edge. Other women and people who had given birth reported abject hatred for the following:
- “Knocked up”
- “Preggo”
- “Got herself pregnant”
- Being referred to only as “mum”, “mama” or “mummy” in medical settings
- “We’re pregnant”
- “With child”
- “Up the duff”
Each term came with an impassioned or irritated explanation as to why. “Knocked up” is vulgar. “Preggo” is just a bit grim. “Got herself pregnant” is a medical miracle that removes the presence of another person entirely. A doctor, nurse or midwife calling you “mum” or “mummy”, rather than your name, can be an identity eraser during a time of shifting identity. “Up the duff” has its roots in a 1940’s flour pudding that would have been boiled in a cloth bag. De-licious.
These phrases won’t jar with everyone. “We’re pregnant” is actually fine in my book. After a nasty bout of antenatal depression, hearing my husband say “we’re pregnant” made it feel like someone was in the black hole with me. “With child” is irritating but to me feels antiquated rather than incisive. Hearing the words “mum” and “dad” at the hospital made us more confident in recognising our new roles at home.
Becoming and staying pregnant takes an inordinate amount of visible and invisible work. Over time, organs rearrange and compress themselves to make space for a ballooning uterus, blood volume increases by 50 per cent, and the body grows vast networks of new capillaries to support the placenta. Said placenta works as a lung, digestive system, kidney, endocrine gland and immune regulator for the fetus and baby it supports. The aptly named hormone ‘Relaxin’ loosens ligaments, oiling up the mechanisms needed to bring a baby earthside. Fetal cells can pass into the bloodstream, settling into your skin, liver, brain and tissues for years to come. Matrescence is associated with measurable changes in brain structure and connectivity patterns.
Yes, in old English, “fallen” meant to “become” or “come into a state of condition”, but it doesn’t signify that today. We fall in love, fall asleep, fall ill. We fall out of love, fall out with friends and fall silent. Pregnant people sustain life, both theirs and their baby or babies. They are keenly aware, each day, of the physical and mental changes taking place within their bodies.
Each of these phrases, no matter how innocent, can reinforce the idea that pregnancy is the silly folly of silly women. Something our too small brains stumble into without adequate understanding of how it’ll affect us – not a biological miracle made manifest. So, skip me with the “fallen”, and I’ll try not to rage when you tell me I look “ready to pop”. Deal?
