It's no joking matter that our bodies go through a LOT to properly host and grow a tiny little human. These bodies of ours are amazing. They are remarkable. They sometimes seem otherworldly. A person growing inside of my own body!? What!?
Well, sometimes the amazingness of growing a person within your person can have some, ahem, moments.
When I was pregnant with my first baby, I loved it all! I was high on pregnancy. I was absolutely thrilled. It felt like my body was doing what it was MEANT to do, and I was here for it.
I seemed to have experienced all of those joyous symptoms, from nausea forcing me to be constantly eating in every single meeting, to having my husband finally put his foot down that we could no longer go to restaurants he liked because after I ate at them, I was too grossed out to go back. I accepted each one with joy that my body was doing amazing things, so I excused them all. I loved my growing bump and, let's be honest, the attention it and I was getting was intoxicating. People helped me with my groceries, suddenly wanted to have long conversations with me, were asking about how I was doing all the time, giving me gifts and on and on. I relished it all!
That was, all the way up until week 39. And then, let's just say the poop hit the fan. My husband came in one day and I was all cheery and happy and giddy and he was like, "aren't you supposed to be complaining about how horrible you feel all the time?" I laughed off that silly notion. The next day, however, when he walked in, I was doubled over in pain with some sort of awful embarrassing pregnancy-induced trapped gas nightmare. He may have been secretly pleased that I was finally acting like the oversized pregnant woman that I really was. The rest of the week went much the same way. I was too big and too uncomfortable with reflux up to my ears and the feeling of a bowling ball between my legs. But the real icing on the cake was that I stopped sleeping. Like literally, I DID NOT SLEEP FOR 3 NIGHTS. That can't be true, but it was, oh it was. Needless to say, I was miserable. After the 2nd night awake, I asked my birth doula for some ideas, and she suggested I get some exercise to tire my body out. I ended up going for a swim (or some sort of "float stroke") and proceeded to spend another night staring at the ceiling. That was the worst symptom, the pregnancy insomnia.
All of this was hard and wonderful. Awful and awesome. Gross and beautiful. Transformative and exciting. Exhausting and exhilarating. Challenging and Intriguing. It's all the things. And p.s. just because I loved all the pregnancy symptoms doesn't mean that you're supposed to. Everyone is different and every pregnancy is different. You do yours the way you do yours and that's 100% okay, perfect in fact. And a little secret? My second pregnancy was anything but magical. I felt very differently the second time around, so much so that people kept asking me if the pregnancy was planned.... it was. I just didn't enjoy it like I was some deranged giddy Disney character that time! There's room for everything you're feeling, thinking, hoping, worrying about, praying for, dreading, hating and loving. Give yourself that space. You're making a human and there's a LOT to unpack.
I've got your new family needs covered.
Me - during my second pregnancy.