When You Hate Being Pregnant
My first pregnancy was a breeze. With the exception of a few days of nausea really early on, I glowed the entire 37 weeks. I went to bed every night with my hand resting dreamily on my belly and I woke up every morning with a smile on my face.
I loved every second of being pregnant. I felt beautiful. I felt strong. I felt powerful.
When I heard other women complain about being pregnant and how they just wanted it to be over I didn’t understand why. How could anyone hate being pregnant? I was so excited to meet my little guy; to see what he looked like, to hold him, but I knew that once I wasn’t pregnant anymore I would miss it.
Then I found myself pregnant a second time.
This time was a whole new ballgame with a whole new set of rules.
I hadn’t even seen the two pink lines before I started throwing up. I spent the entire 40 weeks throwing up. I threw up in the morning. I threw up in the afternoon. I threw up before bed. It was quite common for the nausea to rouse me out of a deep sleep and send me running to the bathroom. The little pills prescribed by my doctor to ease the vomiting did nothing. I threw up on the bathroom of the commuter train and in parking lots and in little plastic bags that I carried with me everywhere.
The heartburn was horrendous. Near the end I slept almost upright to try and ease the pain.
I gained weight at a breakneck pace which was probably partly due to the case of gingerale I ingested per week, which happened to be the only thing that somehow eased the nausea.
I had more than one breakdown that left me in tears wondering how I was supposed to live like this and by the end I was just praying that I would make it to make it to the end.
Then Ms. J entered my world and blew me away. I would have gone through that horrendous pregnancy a million times over knowing it was going to lead to such a magnificent treasure.
For the first time I found myself asking what happens when you hate being pregnant?
I was very lucky that my second pregnancy was the difficult one and not my first. I often found myself wondering if I would have had done this a second time if it had been my first pregnancy that was so difficult.
The moment I met my babies it made every difficult step I had taken to get to them worth it.
Each and every pregnancy is different. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s not. We all do the best we can and take one day at a time. Lean on others wherever you can. Dishes can sit in the sink, beds can stay unmade. The second time around taught me not to judge other mother’s to be who might be struggling a little more. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t love being pregnant. There is no rule that says you have to love it. Trust me when I say the end result makes it all worth it!
In the end, even though my second pregnancy was a tough one, I still can say that I loved being pregnant. Feeling my baby touch me from the inside, the amazing idea that my child and I were communicating with each other in secret code that no one but us understood, the strength I gained throughout the entire 9 months reminded me of the beauty involved and of how lucky I was to be able to experience it.