If you ask a pregnant woman about pregnancy books, she will generally respond with some hand-waving variation of: "Oh, I don't read the books. They just make you crazy!" But contrary to our carefully cultivated pregnancy personas, expectant moms devour pregnancy advice. Late into the night. Down into the wormhole. And, with more than 17 million copies in print worldwide, plus untold millions being passed between sisters and friends, What To Expect When You're Expecting is still the mother of them all.
The origin story goes that, in 1984, expectant mom and advertising copywriter Heidi Murkoff, feeling let down and freaked out by the pregnancy books on the market, decided to write her own. Extreme nesting, perhaps, but the difference between her plan and your notion to knit your child’s entire home-from-the-hospital outfit is that she actually followed through. "Determined to write a guide that would help other expectant parents sleep better at night," per her bio, Murkoff delivered her book proposal just hours before delivering her first child, Emma. What? Yes. She wrote the proposal for the book all about pregnancy while pregnant with her first child. Three decades, four editions, countless spinoffs, and a notable uptick in Emmas later, 93 percent of American women who read a pregnancy guide read What To Expect, according to its publisher’s website.
The first time I was one of those women, I had two books on my bedside table, each reflecting my potential pregnancy personality: Midwifery guru Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, with stories of 72-hour natural homebirths and testaments to the benefit of deep kissing in labor, in case I turned out to be that person; and What To Expect When You're Expecting, in case I turned out to be myself. Reading Murkoff's advice back then—it didn't really frighten me. It consumed me, as did the pregnancy. When you are in it, you are really in it. And when you are really in it, you are in denial about what is actually going on. (Pro tip: The baby is not only going to come out, it's going to stay out.) So you sign up for an eight-week childbirth class, think about switching to decaf, feel guilty that you didn't switch to decaf, watch that Ricki Lake movie, develop philosophies about mom things, make your husband watch that Ricki Lake movie, quietly judge your friends' philosophies about mom things, buy a 20-class pass for prenatal yoga, go to yoga twice, and read (and re-read) a book that purports to tell you "what to expect" – all in order to focus your crazy-person energy on … something. But now that I've had the baby, and another one after that, the book that seemed perfectly normal, even essential, just four years ago, feels harsh, punitive, almost like parody today.
Take Chapter 2, "Now That You're Pregnant," the first real chapter of the book after the introductory throat-clearing. It begins with a list of upbeat and celebratory questions, designed to highlight the miracle of that tiny person in your belly. "My husband is over 50. Does advanced paternal age pose risks to the baby?" Oh. "How about chronic medical problems or family genetic problems?" Um. "I had a perfect first baby. Now that I'm pregnant again, I can't shake the fear that I won't be so lucky this time." Mazel tov!
As a newly pregnant woman who has likely not even seen her doctor yet, the most important thing to remember at this point is: Don't panic! This is merely the first section of the only book that your mother ever passed down to you. There are so many more pages. Plus, panicking puts your fetus at risk. Also putting your fetus at risk and mentioned in the first few pages are previous abortions, Rh incompatibility, Provera, spermicides, chlamydia, living at a high altitude, and herpes. None of these apply to you? Then relax and read this real short paragraph on "Fear of AIDS."
Despite some controversy in the past over the book's strict nutritional guidelines—since edited to be less stringent but still including enough calorie counts and references to "efficiency eating” to make any self-hating woman with body dysmorphia feel right at home—no "bump" in the road has been able to derail the "expanding," some might say "bloated," publishing juggernaut. The first edition of What To Expect came in at 351 pages. Today, even as the suggested weight gain for pregnant woman continues to shrink, What To Expect just keeps on growing. Now 616 pages in its fourth edition, the so-called pregnancy bible keeps finding new ways to capitalize on the perfectly reasonable Level 10 neurosis that comes with being a pregnant person—specifically, by scaring the shit out of us.
No longer just a book, "What To Expect" is a full-fledged cottage industry, with a series of offshoot guides, from What To Expect: The First Year and What To Expect: The Toddler Years to the head-scratching What To Expect Before You're Expecting. (Just, like, in general.) There are also "What To Expect" picture books for children, including What To Expect at Preschool and the must-read What To Expect When You Use the Potty. (I won't give it away.) And in May, Lionsgate will release a movie “based on” the book, which, though many have noted has no real plot, is actually filled with box office catnip: high-stakes drama, painful complications, body horror, vaginas.
Speaking of vaginas—keep yours away from cellphones, sugar substitutes, the family cat, microwaves, tap water, city air, excessive noise, and cocaine. (Chapter 3: “Throughout Your Pregnancy.”)