I had coffee with a friend the other day. A pregnant friend who is in that “second-trimester, starting to feel uncomfortable in her own changing body, slightly grumpy about the restrictions it is placing on her” friend. We are relatively new friends (and yes, we did “meet” via social media), but our stories are quite similar. She could be me seven years ago. A woman in her mid-30′s with a burgeoning career, life experiences and accomplishments that she is proud of and someone who is pretty sure of who she is in this world. And she is afraid. Afraid of what becoming a mother means. Afraid of losing herself to this new role in her life. Afraid of following in the footsteps of the mothers in her life, who became wholly consumed by motherhood and whom she feels lost all of who they were before then. So I told...















