This is not some weird attempt at a pregnancy announcement, it's a reflection of my pregnant self. I hated it. There I said it. I hated being given the most precious gift a women can be offered. A precious gift sadly not easily afforded to all and one that's not afforded to many others, and yet there I was, pregnant and hating it.
Now, I appreciate that hate is a strong word, and when thinking about writing this blog I played around with a few subtler, more reader friendly words by way of explaining how I felt about my pregnancy, and hate seemed the only one that really fitted with how I felt.
Let me first start by saying, I had a very simple, low risk 'normal' pregnancy. I guess it would have been more acceptable to hate a pregnancy whereby Hyperemis Gravidarum hung over every day, throwing you into yet another day of vomiting and retching. It would have been more acceptable if I had been suffering with Symphyasis Pubis Dysfunction, whereby every step taken launched my body into unmanageable pain, making the simple tasks of every day life a massively painful challenge. It would have been more acceptable if I was living with the fear that the baby I was nurturing may come out with a genetic condition that is prevalent in my family line.
Nope, for me I had nausea but never vomited, I had some simple aches and pains that occur when carrying a human around with you all day but never crippled in pain. Nope, I had other less acceptable reasons for hating it.
I hated being solely responsible for this tiny being, I felt the responsibility in every mouthful of food I ate, every waist band that dug into my belly when I sat down, every negative thought I had or sad emotion I harboured.
I hated the expectation on me, all eyes eagerly awaiting the birth and waiting for me to generously share my creation with them. The expectation that I would love this stranger, that I would even like this stranger.
I hated feeling the movements, my brain wouldn't/couldn't accept it was giving lodgings to a real life person so with every movement I had to calm my totally freaked out brain and reassure it that it was a positive natural thing to experience, even though I felt it was the least natural thing.
I hated the fact there was no escape, that where I went, this experience went. I remember with my 2nd, I was lying in a warm bubble bath that I had run for a bit of me time, an hour away from my 2 year old who had made demands on this pregnant mumma all day long, and whilst laying in this bath, this self created sanctuary, the baby started wriggling and I started crying. I cried long and hard. I cried for myself and I cried for my baby. The poor innocent child who had no idea (or at least I thought, maybe he did?) that his own mother resented offering up space in her womb for him to become him.
I hated that as I got bigger so did all the obstacles in front of me, all the things that made me feel like a strong women were being offered out to more capable people, and yet the total contradiction is that being pregnant, growing a human is when a women becomes her strongest, and yet here I was, feeling weak and useless.
And I hated that my husband, the one who makes everything better, couldn't make this better. He listened, he empathised, he probably got right royally pissed off with my 'diamond shoes are too tight' stories but he couldn't change a damn thing. This was all on me and this was his child, how dare I complain about to him?
I'm a flighty, fiercely independent complex woman who needs silence and stillness to feel at peace and when I had a baby on board I couldn't find either of my essential needs for what felt like forever.
I used to listen to my friends (I still do) talking bout the joys of pregnancy while sweeping a motherly hand across their much loved bumps, positively glowing and totally in awe of their bodies and felt I felt inadequate, I felt sad and I felt frustrated. Why did I hate my privilege so much? And of course I didn't feel I could ask my peers that question and so I sat stroking my invading bump with a complete unknowing of why I felt this way.
But, whilst I hate being pregnant, I love giving birth. Weird right? Not so much, birth made me feel strong, capable, awe inspiring, competent. The complete reverse of how pregnancy makes me feel. In fact I'd rather give birth for 9 months than be pregnant for 9 months (step too far?).
I guess my message here is that I can't be the only woman to feel this way? And if you aren't enjoying your pregnancy that it's OK, and that's it's OK to say it out loud. It may not be very appreciative to feel that way whilst other women would go to any length to be in our position but if that is how we're feeling it would be unfair to discredit it completely for fear of judgement.
I would love to know how your pregnancy is treating you?Suggest a correction