Pregnancy behavior no-no's and things that feel just plain wrong.

On my way home from work yesterday, I felt--for the first time in weeks--the familiar urge to roll down my windows, light up a cigarette, blast some good-for-nothing hip-hop, and act like, you know, a 23 year old. The cigarette part I obviously ignored, but I did roll down the window, ignoring pregnancy impulses that told me it was too hot and too distracting while driving and too many fumes could get inside and it's a fetus killer and yadda yadda yadda.

I turned on the trusty rap station, something that I've felt strange doing since finding out about this baby, for fear that it's miniscule ears might pick up on the drugs, hoes and sex references that my just-got-off-work, need-to-clear-my-head self sometimes loves.

And I danced, the way girls who enjoy dancing do, even suppressed by the confines of the car. I danced the way that--if not for the seatbelt and close quarters-- might be mistaken for sexual, with hip-shakin, shoulder-rollin', and all that good stuff.

But then, all of the sudden, I felt my body rejecting the movement. I felt silly. I felt like an imposter. I felt borderline gross for what my body was doing.

I don't look pregnant yet, but I feel pregnant. It's hard not to be acutely aware of the baby growing inside of you when it's making you vomit all day and forcing you to pick fights with your boyfriend because he asked you to put a trash bag back in the can.

And pregnant women (mothers) can't dance like that. At least that's what something innately shouted at me. Something made me stop. I didn't want to, but I had to.

I know it's bullshit; mothers can do whatever the hell they please. Look at Britney Spears and her post-partum rump-shakin, look at Heidi Klum and her catwalk 2 months after baby, look at Christiane Amanpour traveling to the trenches of war with a 10 year old son waiting at home.

But I haven't yet come to grips with the label.

"Mother."

And right now, some things just feel plain wrong while wearing it.