Pregnancy is so magical, except when it isn't

Warning: If you haven't had a baby or are thinking of becoming pregnant again, this post may become your birth control. Proceed at your own risk.

Pregnancy. Beautiful, right? That glow. The wonder of new motherhood. Being several months postpartum, I look back to pregnancy as one of the most profound experiences ever.  But that's just the crazy speaking because I've had ample time now to forget the hell it raised inside my body.

I remember the steam spewing from my ears when seasoned moms said how "magical" pregnancy was. The only magic I experienced was violently exorcised into my work garbage can and on public transportation. If throwing up on it's own wasn't bad enough, my heartburn was so intense I seriously thought satan himself unleashed his fiery lair in my gut. That combo was so fun, nausea + heartburn, I had a perpetually burned throat from up-chucking pure acid.

My bed time was so early, babies were scoffing at me. That is, until the third trimester when sleeping becomes so uncomfortable you might as well throw away your fancy pregnancy pillows. It's an especially cruel design since you're gearing up to spend hours/ days pushing out a bowling ball from your special area to then endure weeks or months of the most intense sleep deprivation of your life.

I didn't have crazy mood swings, I just generally thought strangers were really annoying. Living in Chicago and taking CTA everywhere (which notoriously has characters riding it at all hours), I had so many vicious thoughts. If you didn't give me your seat, I wanted to punch you in the face. If you bumped into me while standing since that dude didn't give me his seat, I wanted to punch you in the face. If you were really loud while I was struggling to keep the contents in my stomach down (sans baby), I wanted to punch you in the face. If you had bad body odor or worse, smelled like Budweiser, I wanted to punch you in the face.

I never punched anyone, but I may or may not have fantasized about it.

There is that honeymoon stage around 20 weeks when most of your symptoms take a hiatus, you can choose to see baby at your mid-pregnancy ultrasound, you likely feel baby "improving her campsite" and your belly looks adorable. If you're in your first trimester, this will come soon enough and cherish that time. Because it doesn't last.

Once my daughter was full term at 37 weeks, I was ready to serve her an eviction notice. Your mind plays tricks on you. You'll think every wince of pain is imminent labor and simultaneously that you'll be pregnant FOREVER. And at 12 days overdue, I was so ready for her to GET OUT. Thank God women get so antsy to go into labor, otherwise they would likely freak out that a REAL LIVE HUMAN WAS COMING HOME WITH THEM.

Everything about pregnancy is weird. And incredible. And mamas feel all sorts of interesting feelings those 40 (or more) weeks.

So seasoned moms, stop making moms-to-be feel guilty for not thinking everything is as magical as you think you remember it. And moms-to-be, take a moment to appreciate the weirdness. Because your nausea is a reminder that your body is sustaining a life. And soon your baby will be on the outside keeping you awake instead of squished uncomfortably against your bladder.

...And just know you'll likely let out a little pee here or there after you give birth.

Loss and Motherhood

Years back I told my husband that I hoped pregnancy would come as a surprise to us–oh sweet, naïve me.

But at 4:00 A.M. that Saturday morning when I followed my gut (literally) and verified that something, or rather someone, other than last night's pizza was in my tummy, I didn't feel like destiny had kissed our lives. 

I felt a sense of loss.


photo credit: kanira.supono via photopin cc

Just a week before I saw those double pink lines on a home pregnancy test, I finally came to a definitive decision that I didn't want to have children. Cue the irony.

In an instant, my priorities changed. I was forced to think beyond what was best for me and tune into what was best for this stranger growing inside me.

For 9 months, I worried about the changes this little one would bring. And I wasn't wrong. Change did come in big ways. My daughter didn't take a bottle, so going back to work, to a job I really liked, was out of the question. And even if she had been a champ with a bottle, I knew being away from my high needs baby would be a terrible decision for this low energy mama.

Baby was a nurse-o-holic from the very beginning, slowly graduating from nursing every 30-45 minutes to oh, an hour an a half by 3 months old. Mama was on call all hours of the day and night which meant me-time was non-existent.

What I feared most was what would change between my husband and me. After being spoiled with 5 years of blissful marriage, I worried what adding a third person would do to our rhythm.

For those first few months, we hardly spent one moment in peace or romance together. We felt miles apart without any tools to lead us back to each other. One of us always had our daughter with the other fleeing to gain their sanity back. And for the first time ever, I worried that we'd never get what we had back.

See, we obviously have chemistry...even in pointless selfies.

And to be honest, we haven't gotten it all back. But what I couldn't conceptualize was what I would gain when my daughter joined us at 9:56 A.M. that snowy morning. 

I gained a new soul mate.

She is a mix of me and him and a dash of everyone else. She's unique and delightful and curious and emotional and adorable.

I voluntarily love my husband. I choose him every day, but my love for my daughter is completely involuntary. This kind of love is nothing I've ever experienced before–more profound than I could ever hope to put into words.

Things weren't always rainbows and lollipops. My soul mate wailed for the first 4 months and nearly drove us to madness, but even in the hardest moments, I missed her. We were once one and though my body seemed to want to violently puke her up several times a day, we were as close as any two people could ever be.

Since that confusing morning when I learned of this stranger in my belly, I have grieved many losses. I'll never again be just me. And my husband and I will never be just us. We're our daughter's mama and papa. That's an identity we'll never shake, nor want to.

And every day it's like I'm teaching her how to gradually leave my nest. I can't bare to think of how profoundly I'll feel that loss when the day comes for her to fly away.