Unsurprisingly today was another anxiety filled crap day. I’m a broken record over here. But I’m going to try and ignore the fact that I’m not doing so hot and write about something less depressing. It’s going to sound like I’m being negative at first, but it’ll come around, I promise.
The thing is I hate being pregnant. Like I really despise it. Even when I’m terrified of losing the pregnancy every moment of every day I still hate the reality of it. When I was pregnant with T I hated it without much worry that I’d miscarry. For some reason it just didn’t seem like a possibility. It didn’t seem like a possibility during the pregnancy this summer until we found out it had happened. I’m hoping at some point I will settle into believing this pregnancy will last. I’m almost out of the first trimester, maybe reaching that milestone will do the trick. But I still hate being pregnant. I hate feeling like my body isn’t my own, I hate that my nipples are so sore that if I brush against something they kill me, I hate being nauseous all the time, I hate the throwing up that is going on this time, I hate not being able to sleep well at night, I hate being tired all day, I hate not feeling any sort of connection to the baby while it is still inside me. I really truly hate it.
When I was pregnant with T I hated it so much I swore up and down he would be my only kid. I never wanted to experience it again. My friends assured me I’d forget how bad it was and get baby fever and I assured them it would never happen. Um, yeah. Only took 9 months after T’s birth for me to want another one so bad I couldn’t see straight. Because you do forget how much it sucks. It seems crazy to me, especially while I am going through the grossness yet again, but you forget. You even manage to ignore the fact you’ll have to go through labor again. And boy-o, childbirth and the whole retained placenta aftermath was such a horror that I am shocked my baby wanting hormones are so strong they could push that shit show out of my mind.
The first time around pregnancy was even worse because my hatred was coupled with the fear that I would also hate being a mom. And that I would suck at it. But the moment I grasped his tiny shoulders and pulled him out and onto my chest I knew the whole motherhood thing was exactly what I wanted. I’m not going to win any mother of the year awards, but I think I’m fine at it. It sort of came naturally in a way that surprised and delighted me. I can’t wait to meet the little one who is growing away in my belly right now. The fact that I don’t and I won’t feel bonded to the baby during the pregnancy doesn’t matter this time. I know how I’ll feel when I meet him/her/it.
And to the ladies out there who are considering this whole parenthood gig–the way that I experience pregnancy doesn’t necessarily have anything to with the way you will. I know tons of people who loved being pregnant, who felt great the whole time, who didn’t have a second of nausea, who just glowed glowed glowed. I also know women who didn’t bond with their kids right away. It can take a couple of months, I mean it is a huge shock to your system and for the first little while the whole just keeping them alive thing can be completely overwhelming. Doesn’t mean anything. The bonding will happen, and it is extraordinary when it does. The way we go through this breeding thing is both communal and individual. We feel the way we feel, and it is all cool. As someone who has to worry about being crazy and controlling that crazy it is with a lot of relief that I’ve realized my hatred of pregnancy doesn’t make me feel crazy at all anymore. I feel nice and normal in that one area of my life. And no matter how you do pregnancy you should, too.
One of our best friends in the world, the guy that introduced us and was the best man at our wedding visited this weekend. Part of the reason today was so hard is I’m already missing him.
Although little man will be 18 months old next week he has developed a bizarre obsession with his infant bouncy seat.