So this hasn’t been the easiest pregnancy. I had heard women go through some rough stuff during the first trimester, and I’ve always considered myself a fighter, so I wasn’t particularly concerned. Alas, I was woefully unprepared for any of it. I really was.
While some might call me a control freak, I prefer the term “persnickety.” No matter what you call it, having my body be taken over by forces out of my reach has taken a toll. There was no amount of mental persistence or fortitude that could have made the last three months easier. And that’s hard for someone who has always worked through the pain, no matter what that pain looked like.
My days have been marked in the following ways:
1) Wake up, feeling nauseous from the second I open my eyes. I have stopped taking the train. The three-mile walk it adds to my day, plus having to wake up early to catch the train, stop being a reality. Plus the heat? Oy. I have spent too much on parking garage fees. I had to start budgeting it in.
2) Work, and try and battle the nausea all day long, eating whatever comes to mind, or at least whatever it is that I can convince myself to eat. Feel this way until around 6:30 p.m., when I get ready to go home.
3) Not go into the kitchen, open the pantry or the fridge. Hope to God something sounds appetizing. I have not cooked a meal since May.
4) Work some more, pass out.
Come Friday, I pass out quickly. Saturdays have consisted of me in bed, all day. The week has just about taken everything out of me. I don’t think I was at all mentally prepared for what this might feel like. Sick, tired, listless, even a little depressed. I told Scott early on that it felt a bit like Groundhog Day. I took no joy in eating – people, Baked Cheetos grossed me out – and the fact that all I could contribute to my relationship was a suffering, sad and sick lump on a log was all I could take. Scott was loving and caring and understanding. He did his level best to help. However, there was very little I could do – and believe me, we tried everything – that made a difference, and I’ve always been a firm believe that if I just did “X,” then “Y” would happen.
This kid is already teaching me a few firm lessons in how much an illusion control really is.
It’s hard to admit to not enjoying being pregnant, when that’s all the world wants you to do. I enjoy that by being pregnant, we’ll have a new member of our family. I’m excited about meeting her in a few months, about being her mom. Holy hell I do not like being pregnant. My brain has enough space for my job, sleeping and breathing. People ask me about color schemes and nursery themes and I think, “Are you kidding me? Are you serious?” I don’t think in themes, I don’t wander through baby-related aisles…I’m just trying to get through a night of getting back to sleep after I get up to pee in the middle of it. And then of course I feel guilty for not thinking about anything baby-related, other than getting her here. And because those people are just being nice and are happy for us.
My comments about not enjoying this part of becoming a mom have been met with the most blank of stares by some people. Those people haven’t usually experienced the sort of nausea I have since June. And it’s OK, it is, and it’s not like I’m the only woman who has gone through this, and I know that. But I also know it’s hard for others to see a less-than-joyful pregnant lady. To those people I say, “Please give me a chocolate-chip cookie before I hit you.”
I hate that I had to give up bootcamp classes. I hate that the summer went by without me leaving the couch. I hate that I haven’t had a vegetable in weeks. I hate that I feel like a delicate flower. One of my most favorite things to do is go grocery shopping, and I’ve had to run out of so many grocery stores because of the smell. I hate that my routine is just shot to hell. I hate that I’ve got the energy of a very old goat.
And so it goes. I’m certain there are symbolic, pithy things that can be said about all of this, about how it’s emblematic of what my life will look like with a child – unpredictable, chaotic, unruly. I can actually hear the smirks from some of you who know better. But you know what? I don’t care much about those things. It’s been a tough summer, and a tough road so far, and at least when our daughter gets here, she will actually be here. So far I’ve just got perpetual bloat and a dramatically shrinking wardrobe to show for all of this. I don’t know how women are supposed to buy into this kind of dramatic change as the most amazing experience, when oftentimes, for some of us, it’s just not.
Here’s the good news: it seems to be wrapping up. Right now I’m fighting a cold, and I’m still tired, but the 12-hour-long nausea is abating, much like everyone said it would come the second trimester. I’m going to try and get into the gym next week to do some light moving and lifting, for the mental benefit, if nothing else. I haven’t had a free moment to buy any clothes to get me through – I’ve only gained three pounds (I originally lost weight, but things evened out) but it feels like so much more, enough that I need some new jeans, at least. Or at least a whole bunch of leggings and big shirts. There is only so much cobbling together I can do of what I have left that fits me, especially since I the last round of clothes I’d purchased were accommodating the body that was developing after daily bootcamp classes.
This body now has a greater, more noble purpose, I grant you, but boy is it smooshy in places that haven’t been smooshy since I was at my heaviest weight.
And I’ll be honest: the body image stuff is tough. I’m lucky enough that I have friends and loved ones who will let me share how I feel about this, and so I can keep it in check. It dawned on me this week, though, that with the baby I’ll likely get back to or near my heaviest weight of 188 pounds. It’s not the worst thing in the world, of course, and it’s certainly not the end of it. And unlike the last time I was at that weight, this time I certainly have better eating and lifestyle habits that I won’t be starting at square one. And unlike last time, I’ll have been growing a person, which is pretty awesome.
Admittedly it’s recognizing that this is all for a better purpose that it’s made eating cherry pie a bit easier.
(PS – Scott will be writing a bit about becoming a father at his own blog if you’d like to follow along.)
