The surprise pregnancy/secret baby storyline has been a part
of Romance for as long as there's been a Romance genre.
Remember those “Old Skool” heroines who marry because they have
to? And those jet-setting Harlequin heroes
who get their mistresses pregnant, then go all he-man possessive once they
find out, demanding marriage or
else? And what about those parted lovers who meet
up years later by pure chance, with the hero doing a double-take: surely that mini-me clinging to the heroine
isn’t really a mini-me?
(Seriously, if contraceptives in the real world failed as
often as they do in Romance novels, we’d have billions more people on earth.)
Well, Virginia, I am here to tell you: there is nothing hearts and roses about
pregnancy. I know some women have easy
breezy beautiful Cover Girl pregnancies, nary a dry heave to mar their
oxytocin-primed sense of well-being. Not
me. And I’ve been through the whole
pregnancy-delivery-postpartum thing three times. And don’t get me started on the sleepless
nights, poopy diapers, spit-up, colic, and realization that you will never again
have a moment to yourself. Especially
when there’s three of them and only one (or two) of you.
So, we’re agreed:
there is nothing the least bit romantic about pregnancy or its
aftermath.
Why, then, do so many women (myself included) still love to
read about it, especially if it’s an unexpected or secret pregnancy?
