No One Wants to See Your Sonogram

SonogramHey you. Yeah. You, there with the burgeoning belly and the stars in your eyes. Stop what you’re doing and save it in a private folder. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh, my gosh, I’m finally pregnant ... This is so amazing ... I want to share every aspect of it with every loved one on Facebook!"

And it is amazing. And it does feel like you’re the first and only woman to feel this way. And it’s life-affirming and awesome and all the other things. But before you push “post,” take a minute. Because as infectious as your joy is, you must beware of a silent threat to all pregnancies. That’s right: I’m talking about OBGYN TMI.


Now, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. I was as guilty as anyone of oversharing during my pregnancy. I blogged about my nipples, I tweeted from the delivery room, I made jokes about vicodin and stool softeners in the hospital elevator ... I don’t have a varicose-veined leg to stand on. To put it another way: I’m not casting stones, because I’m not without sin.

I’m just trying to keep you from going down the same road I did.

The movie of your moving belly? That’s pretty cool, actually. Details of the burp that burned the back of your throat? Girl, I can relate. But having a special sonogram and then sending it out to your family and friends? No, dear. No. You. Can. Not. Do. That.

For one thing, the black-and-white sonograms are inscrutable to everyone but you and the lady who squirted goo on your belly and took the pictures. Honestly. I had what I thought was a crystal-clear image of my daughter, and I used to coo over it and swore to God that she looked -- in the sonogram -- exactly like my Grandma Arax.

People, I have looked over those pictures three years later, and I now understand why my mom smiled so politely -- and so vacantly -- when I waved it in her face. Sonograms all look like one thing: a pointillist painting of a galaxy blowing up.

As for the 4-D pictures, the ones that look like wax sculptures that were left on a radiator, or butterscotch sundaes possessed by demon-babies ... just no. Please. Better I should tell you than you hear from  someone else: The 4-D ultrasounds are just downright creepy.

And the little movies of the baby moving around inside you, with a soundtrack of either (a) you saying “OH! Is that a foot?!” or (b) An MP3 of Jefferson Airplane’s "Embryonic Journey," are really just a way to wear out everyone’s FF buttons.

I know. I know, I’m going to get angry comments from people who are all “My mom LOVES those movies” and “You meanie, you’re wrong about everything!” and maybe I am. Maybe there are people who want to watch your baby live-blogging from your uterus.

Or maybe you should dial down the overshares, and save something for the (private) baby book. Trust me. Once the baby gets here, you’ll be so over everyone’s ultrasounds.

On the other hand, you’ll be totally into discussing whether poop is supposed to be bright green and of that particular consistency. Which reminds me, I have a Facebook status to update ...

Are you guilty of oversharing your pregnancy?

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