holywood model: Why I Hid My Pregnancy From Instagram

It seemed almost rude to show up so pregnant to a long-delayed reunion with my former editor without telling him first. I consider him a mentor, and a friend, so I tried to text the news as I drew closer.

Everything I typed sounded self-conscious and weird, and my hands were growing stiff with cold, so I scowled, gave up on the whole attempt and pocketed my phone. My mentor would find out soon enough, I reasoned, and in the same way that a lot of people learned of our "big news": haphazardly, belatedly and—in defiance of long-standing millennial norms—not through social media. My first child is now arriving in a matter of days, and most of my social and professional networks have no earthly idea.

It's not that I set out to keep my pregnancy a secret, per se—but the news has felt too vulnerable, too exposing, too complex to share widely. And in delaying the announcement, I've joined a quiet movement of soon-to-be parents who concealed their pregnancies." title="It seemed almost rude to show up so pregnant to a long-delayed reunion with my former editor without telling him first. I consider him a mentor, and a friend, so I tried to text the news as I drew closer. "Btw," I tapped, five blocks from the coffee shop where we were set to meet. "I've been pretty private about this, but I'm actually … very pregnant." Awkward! Neurotic! I tried again: "Fyi! Pregnant, not bloated."

Everything I typed sounded self-conscious and weird, and my hands were growing stiff with cold, so I scowled, gave up on the whole attempt and pocketed my phone. My mentor would find out soon enough, I reasoned, and in the same way that a lot of people learned of our "big news": haphazardly, belatedly and—in defiance of long-standing millennial norms—not through social media. My first child is now arriving in a matter of days, and most of my social and professional networks have no earthly idea.

It's not that I set out to keep my pregnancy a secret, per se—but the news has felt too vulnerable, too exposing, too complex to share widely. And in delaying the announcement, I've joined a quiet movement of soon-to-be parents who concealed their pregnancies." height="auto">

Why I Hid My Pregnancy From Instagram

It seemed almost rude to show up so pregnant to a long-delayed reunion with my former editor without telling him first. I consider him a mentor, and a friend, so I tried to text the news as I drew closer. "Btw," I tapped, five blocks from the coffee shop where we were set to meet. "I've been pretty private about this, but I'm actually … very pregnant." Awkward! Neurotic! I tried again: "Fyi! Pregnant, not bloated."

Everything I typed sounded self-conscious and weird, and my hands were growing stiff with cold, so I scowled, gave up on the whole attempt and pocketed my phone. My mentor would find out soon enough, I reasoned, and in the same way that a lot of people learned of our "big news": haphazardly, belatedly and—in defiance of long-standing millennial norms—not through social media. My first child is now arriving in a matter of days, and most of my social and professional networks have no earthly idea.

It's not that I set out to keep my pregnancy a secret, per se—but the news has felt too vulnerable, too exposing, too complex to share widely. And in delaying the announcement, I've joined a quiet movement of soon-to-be parents who concealed their pregnancies.