I hate being pregnant. There. I said it. I know a lot of
women who luuuuuurve being pregnant and you know what? Fuck them. It’s awful. I
know I’ve broken the cardinal rule of human baking: Thou shalt be happy about
your stretchy uncomfortable uterus at all times, but it’s about time women were
made more aware of this shit. I don’t want to turn this into a Mommy Blog, (You
guys are aware of the existence of those things, right? “Keeping a Godly home
and raising my kids to do right and not eat sugar and not have fun and hate the
gays!”) but I do just want to let you know about some of this. I’m not going to
post pictures of my uterus and ask who you think the seahorse looks like, but
the fact is, I’m growing a human inside me. A tiny one… like a teacup human. It
hasn’t been easy.
My body is resistant to things it should not be
resisting. It's low in things it should be high in and pretty much arse
backwards for everything else. I have to give myself injections 4 times a day
and I'm not going to lie to you: The first time I had to do it, I sat in my
bedroom with the door closed blasting inspirational music and sobbing for close
to 2 hours. It was the hardest thing I've had to do so far. I am not a needle
person. When I was a child up until I was (embarrassingly) in my late teens, I
would have to be held down for blood tests and injections while I screamed and
cried and the idea of pushing a needle into my own soft, white flesh almost
broke me. That was a couple of months ago and I'm pretty good at it now. I'd
still prefer not to do it of course, but I get through it with only a mild
amount of swearing and one or two baleful looks at Husband.
The thing is... no one warned me that this could
happen. I've been told that pregnancy is lovely. It's a happy, glowing
beautiful time where you enjoy the last 9 months of your own life before you
become a slave to a tiny squalling cone headed shit machine. You know what? Not true. SO not true.
I will tell you some things about pregnancy if you want to listen. And if you
don’t want to listen, I’m going to tell you anyway.
I was pretty lucky in the beginning. I didn’t get morning sickness. The only
time I throw up is when I haven’t had enough sleep, which at the moment, is all
the fucking time. Husband has been very supportive of me during this period,
especially in SMS form.
“Still not well. Today I threw up all my apple juice. :(”
“Where did you get juice from?”
To start with, not puking up everything I ate frightened me. I mean, that’s how
people know they’re pregnant, right? And everyone says that that’s how you know
it’s going to be a healthy pregnancy and a healthy baby. The sicker you are, the
better it is for the baby they say. I wasn’t sick at all. Not even a little
bit. I was living in a constant state of quiet terror. And being a curious
person, I did something no one should ever do. EVER. I Googled. I typed in “11
weeks pregnant and no sickness.” You want a tip for pregnancy? Don’t do that.
Do not Google things. For the love of
God, don’t do it. You know what you should do if you’re worried? Talk to the
doctor. Just go and talk to them. Ring them! There’s a pregnancy hotline at my
hospital where I can call and ask them all the stupid questions I want and they
won’t yell at me. I should have done that. But I didn’t. And you know what I
got for Googling? All of the top search results were for something called
“missed miscarriage” or “missed abortion.” I didn’t even know that was a thing.
It’s pretty much where the baby dies, but your body doesn’t tell you about it.
You don’t get pain, or bleeding or anything. You just feel “less pregnant.” As
I never really felt pregnant, I was appropriately panic stricken. Seriously, how
is that a thing? How is that a thing that they don’t tell you about?
But, I didn’t have that. I heard the heart beat and saw all the doctors and
everything appears to be fine. Fine that is, apart from all the shit I can’t do
or eat.
I went to Thailand recently. It was lovely. If you haven’t been, go. I had a
great time. I went elephant riding, off road buggying, snorkelling, speed
boating, sea kayaking and got massages. All of these things had signs strung up
proclaiming “NO PREGNANT WOMEN!” Since I don’t look overtly pregnant at the
moment, just a bit fat, I did an excellent job of ignoring all of these signs.
Why can’t I do things? Just because I’m gestating shouldn’t mean I’m excluded
from fun, should it? I mean, just because I can’t bend in the middle anymore
doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be allowed to ride a damn elephant if I should choose
to. I’ve already had to give up all of the food I love, so activities are the
only things left to me. I’m not going to sit in a quiet room and eat carrot
sticks and cry for the next 4 and a half months.
A friend of mine asked me yesterday what I’m giving up for Lent this year.
Nothing. I am giving up nothing for Lent this year, much like I did last year,
and the year before that and every year I can remember. But, this year, I have
a reason. I have nothing left to give up. You want a list of the shit I’ve had
to give up?
Milk
Icecream
Cream
Cheese
Yoghurt
Hot chocolate mix
Coffee
Tea
Diet soft drink excluding ginger beer
Berries
Bread
Potatoes
Pasta
Popcorn
Alcohol
Smoked salmon
Sashimi
Pre-prepared salads
Sandwiches from sandwich shops including, but not limited to, Subway
Deli meats
Salami, chorizo, prosciutto and the like
Juice
Tuna
Bacon
Any meat that is not cooked “well done.” No pink in the middle at all
Cold left overs
Left overs that have been in the fridge longer than over night
The ability to sleep on my stomach, or at all
The health of my nails
Dance
Yeah. That’s right. How lovely and exciting and
glowing is pregnancy looking now?
You want to know some other shit about pregnancy? It hurts. Those cramps you
get to warn you your special lady flowering moon time is about to be upon you?
Yeah. That happens all the time. That’s your uterus growing. It’s not pleasant.
Your back also hurts. And your boobs. And your head. Pretty much anything
attached to you or inside you is going to hurt. You can take Panadol or
paracetamol, but nothing more effective than that, and really, if I can’t crush
up Xanax and Valium in my breakfast tea, what’s the point of living?
Also, if you throw up too hard, you will pee. On yourself, on the floor, pretty
much on whatever is located south of your vagina. I cannot wait for the day my kid says to me “Mummy, I feel sick, I can’t go
to school.” You know what kid? You do not feel as sick as I did when I was
pregnant with you, and I projectile vomited tomato soup and meat balls all over
the toilet stall at work and then pissed myself a bit. AT WORK. So get your
arse out of bed, put on your back pack and get the fuck out of this house, you’re
going to school.
Apparently though, at the end of all this they give you a baby and they let you
keep it and it’s supposed to make it all worthwhile… We’ll see.
