Yup I said it. I didn’t glow, I farted. I thought I would keep fit, not gain much weight and love every second. Clearly I was fed a Disney dream.
My first trimester, I threw up like a rock star after a bender. I felt so horrid it was hard to work, talk and simply exist. The exhaustion was indescribable. I was so tired all I wanted was a redbull with an expresso chaser. Of course that wasn’t allowed. The list of NOT ALLOWED felt ridiculously long and made me resent my pregnancy more. Saying that, I was too ill to eat anyway. My pregnancy glow was more “she looks a bit fat”.
The second trimester was, in comparison, not as gross but not amazing either. I was wolverine hairy. I was 16 year-old boy spotty. I was a teenager-girl hormonal. I famously had a fight with my husband that had me curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom’s mat. I lay there judging myself but unable to stop sobbing. The great argument prior was should we go for one cot or the other. Seriously pregnancy made me crazy. I was raging one minute and crying the next. I also hated people who kept telling me they loved being pregnant. I just felt exceptional guilt that I didn’t. I also started to freak out that if I hated pregnancy I was going to be a crap mum too. The crazy was real.
By this point everything hurt. The exhaustion was back. I also had a penguin waddle. I did embrace the bump but it was hard not to. I had gained so much weight it literally entered the room before me. If I walked for any distance my feet, back and stomach hurt. My fluttering baby kicks had turned into something out of alien. I had
weird thoughts of losing a kidney to my unborn child because he drop kicked it. I wanted him out but was equally terrified of his appearance.
Motherhood kicked in. Apparently that is when I am supposed to look back and forget all of the above. Definitely not. But was it all worth it? Absolutely. Do I want to do it again. Hell no. Maybe ask me again in a few years.