I recently read that a famous celebrity mum was 'shamed' online for being honest about her pregnancy experiences. She openly admitted that she had hated being pregnant and that it was basically Hell for her from start to finish:
"I just don't think pregnancy and me really agree with each other [...] I'm really not complaining, I'm just being honest. ... I hate it. You know, pregnancy is not for me."
This prompted an immediate, fiery backlash online. Comments such as 'You don't deserve to have children' and 'How selfish, you should be ashamed of yourself' were rife. One argument that seemed to pop up most often was along the lines of 'How dare you complain when thousands of women struggle with fertility issues'.
I kind of get it. I do. Frankly this particular celebrity is well-known for being a vapid, selfish, whining waste of oxygen, which very likely doesn't help her cause. But I just cannot condone the negativity she has received in response to her comments.
PREGNANCY CAN BE S**T!
Not always.
Not all the time.
Not for everyone
But it absolutely CAN be.
In general, you will very likely feel like death (not even warmed up) for approximately 30 weeks out of 40. If anyone felt that ill for that long and wasn't pregnant there would be no end of sympathy and support. But the second a child is involved people get up in arms, ready to deny you your right to bare children simply because you didn't enjoy the journey.
Obviously the end result is worth it, otherwise we would have died out long ago. And not all pregnancies are the same either. My first was a walk in the park compared to my current 'rollercoaster'.
To put things into context (and before I am lynched), in the last 31 weeks I have experienced:
painful stomach cramps, bleeding which lasted over 8 weeks, miscarriage scares, persistent nausea, vomiting so much I couldn't even keep down water, several rather extreme bouts of diarrhea, uncontrollable shivering, blinding headaches, dry skin so bad my hands and feet have split open, severe pelvic girdle pain, lower back issues, all-over muscle cramps, swollen feet, constant blinding heartburn, insomnia, restless legs (and arms, and body!), worsening of asthma symptoms, random development of hay fever and other skin allergies, constantly itchy nose, bacterial infection, sore teeth and gums, AND I now have to regularly stab myself in the finger thanks to suspected Gestational Diabetes!!
That's not even including the indignity of vaginal exams, the 3 hour waits in hospital receptions, monthly weigh-ins, not being able to lift or move or do anything, or the fact that none of my clothes fit, not to mention the rapidly approaching horizon of the actual birth, breastfeeding and raising a baby with a toddler in the house!
*and breathe*
I LOOOOOOVE my daughter, more than anything else in the whole world. I cannot imagine a more perfect little human. I am positive I will feel the same about our second.
I have also hated this pregnancy.
Both can be true, and that's ok.
Yes the little nudges and kicks are quite wonderful (not so much the all-out stretches!), and I do love that for once my chest actually looks in proportion to my body. It's incredible to see her jumping and swallowing and kicking in black-and-white ultrasound pictures, but I've pretty much already decided I don't ever want to be pregnant again. I haven't completely ruled out a 3rd child maybe some time in the future, but honestly, given how much I have struggled through this pregnancy, and given how much harder it has been than my first, I just don't think I could put myself through it again.
I don't feel that makes me a bad person. One of my best friends has struggled with fertility issues to the point of pretty much giving up all hope. Another friend finds herself single, Aunty to 3 and desperate for a child of her own. Yet another finds herself (and her husband) under constant pressure to procreate when neither of them has any intention of doing so! My not enjoying this pregnancy doesn't make me blind to their struggles, I just wouldn't be cruel enough to complain about it in front of them. If I need to vent I know I have other mum friends who have had similar experiences and will offer a sympathetic ear. I know I can log in and have a rant anonymously on a pregnancy forum and find similar stories being shared in response. I know my husband is pretty much contractually obliged to listen to my complaining! In short, I know to choose my audience.
I suppose that's the difficulty with 'celebrity'; you can't really choose your audience. When Miss Thing made those comments, she made them to the world. While I am absolutely positive there will have been plenty of mums out there having a rotten old time and wholeheartedly agreeing with her, they were not the only ones who heard. It all boils down to point of view. She was short sighted in that she didn't think how her words might affect those with different experiences, such as those struggling to start a family. At the same time those posting hateful comments were only seeing her through their own narrow viewpoint, and need to take a step back and realise that not everyone goes through the same things in life. We all need to be a bit more mindful of that.
It's ok to hate being pregnant.
It's ok to be jealous of those who are pregnant.
It's ok to be contented by yourself and not want children.
It is NOT ok to shame others for feeling differently to you, no matter who they are.
Counting the positives... and the square footage.
I know I can't be the only one who tends to miss the little positives when they happen. As I continue through this pregnancy my anxiety is definitely growing, and I am becoming decidedly more duck-like! *Calm on the surface, paddling like billio underneath, trying desperately to stay afloat.*
There will always be things to worry about. I'm talking proper grown-up 'adult' worries. Like why does the Tax man still think my husband is self employed after 2 years of working PAYE, and do we or do we not owe them over £2000? Or how am I supposed to reduce our payments on the house if his work won't give him access to the payslips we need in order to remortgage? Or how on earth are we supposed to fit yet another child into said house when new-builds have ZERO storage space and we were already struggling to fit with just the one?
That last one has kept me up at nights, especially recently. With every kick, every nudge, every 'Jees O, will you get your foot out of there!' I am reminded that we are on a fairly tight, absolute, unyielding schedule. This baby WILL arrive before the end of August, one way or another. While I think we can all agree that the infant itself will take up relatively little space (not much more than a hamster really) it's everything else that has me in a bit of a panic.
The generosity of others never ceases to amaze me. Following the birth of our first daughter we had to floor the loft in order to store the many MANY clothes, toys, play centres, feeding accessories and jungle gyms that suddenly filled our tiny home. I fully intend to reuse as much as possible with our second, but you can be fairly sure the same wonderful people are going to gift just as much, and while I am thrilled to have these people in our lives and can hardly wait to see what little delights she is given, nonetheless, space is going to be tight.
So it was important to me that this weekend we made at least SOME headway with the nursery, or as it had become known, 'the stuff room'. Of course, this would have been a lot simpler if my husband hadn't been working all Saturday and half of Sunday...
Still, the nesting instinct is STRONG and I knew I had to made some headway this weekend, possibly because it was the weekend before my final week of work. Beyond that maternity leave stretches out like a cursed blessing. We had already dismantled a lot of the furniture, but with much of this still piled up in the room it was hard to imagine how it could ever become the harmonious space I had envisioned. Luckily my dad (A.K.A. Superman) was on hand Saturday morning to shift the things that are currently too heavy for me, which is just about everything!
Goodbye old desk that saw me through Uni and beyond.
Goodbye craft storage tower; I have no time to enjoy you now anyway.
Farewell teenage wardrobe, come converted reptile housing, come bookshelf; you were my favourite.
And just like that the room was mostly empty (save the massive pile of shoes that I literally have NO place for - that's next weekend's problem). My Stuff, my past life, was gone. Thrown into the back of a trailer and headed for the tip. Just like that. Sigh. The joys of motherhood eh?
But this is what I'm talking about. I could dwell on the fact that my identity has been slowly stripped away over the last few years and replaced with something resembling my own mother (dear God), OR I could focus on the fact that I don't need the old me any more.
I don't need to be self-conscious about my body, because Eliza thinks I'm beautiful. I don't need to collect and breed pets like that are going extinct (seriously, I had 18 lizards at one point!) because I now have an outlet for my mothering, caring instincts. I don't need to throw myself into work, even at the weekends, because there is no time to be bored anymore!
Yes, it's still occasionally jarring to realise just how much my life has changed, but then I remember, I wasn't actually that happy before we started our little family. I battled with anxiety and depression for YEARS. Then Eliza arrived and there was no time to over think. Everything became so much simple, despite actually being more complicated. Being 'mummy' gave me a clarity of thought I had never known. The fact is I was a mum long before I had children. In reality I am more me now that I ever was before.
So what are the positives from this weekend, I hear you ask:
There will always be things to worry about. I'm talking proper grown-up 'adult' worries. Like why does the Tax man still think my husband is self employed after 2 years of working PAYE, and do we or do we not owe them over £2000? Or how am I supposed to reduce our payments on the house if his work won't give him access to the payslips we need in order to remortgage? Or how on earth are we supposed to fit yet another child into said house when new-builds have ZERO storage space and we were already struggling to fit with just the one?
That last one has kept me up at nights, especially recently. With every kick, every nudge, every 'Jees O, will you get your foot out of there!' I am reminded that we are on a fairly tight, absolute, unyielding schedule. This baby WILL arrive before the end of August, one way or another. While I think we can all agree that the infant itself will take up relatively little space (not much more than a hamster really) it's everything else that has me in a bit of a panic.
The generosity of others never ceases to amaze me. Following the birth of our first daughter we had to floor the loft in order to store the many MANY clothes, toys, play centres, feeding accessories and jungle gyms that suddenly filled our tiny home. I fully intend to reuse as much as possible with our second, but you can be fairly sure the same wonderful people are going to gift just as much, and while I am thrilled to have these people in our lives and can hardly wait to see what little delights she is given, nonetheless, space is going to be tight.
So it was important to me that this weekend we made at least SOME headway with the nursery, or as it had become known, 'the stuff room'. Of course, this would have been a lot simpler if my husband hadn't been working all Saturday and half of Sunday...
Still, the nesting instinct is STRONG and I knew I had to made some headway this weekend, possibly because it was the weekend before my final week of work. Beyond that maternity leave stretches out like a cursed blessing. We had already dismantled a lot of the furniture, but with much of this still piled up in the room it was hard to imagine how it could ever become the harmonious space I had envisioned. Luckily my dad (A.K.A. Superman) was on hand Saturday morning to shift the things that are currently too heavy for me, which is just about everything!
Goodbye old desk that saw me through Uni and beyond.
Goodbye craft storage tower; I have no time to enjoy you now anyway.
Farewell teenage wardrobe, come converted reptile housing, come bookshelf; you were my favourite.
And just like that the room was mostly empty (save the massive pile of shoes that I literally have NO place for - that's next weekend's problem). My Stuff, my past life, was gone. Thrown into the back of a trailer and headed for the tip. Just like that. Sigh. The joys of motherhood eh?
But this is what I'm talking about. I could dwell on the fact that my identity has been slowly stripped away over the last few years and replaced with something resembling my own mother (dear God), OR I could focus on the fact that I don't need the old me any more.
I don't need to be self-conscious about my body, because Eliza thinks I'm beautiful. I don't need to collect and breed pets like that are going extinct (seriously, I had 18 lizards at one point!) because I now have an outlet for my mothering, caring instincts. I don't need to throw myself into work, even at the weekends, because there is no time to be bored anymore!
Yes, it's still occasionally jarring to realise just how much my life has changed, but then I remember, I wasn't actually that happy before we started our little family. I battled with anxiety and depression for YEARS. Then Eliza arrived and there was no time to over think. Everything became so much simple, despite actually being more complicated. Being 'mummy' gave me a clarity of thought I had never known. The fact is I was a mum long before I had children. In reality I am more me now that I ever was before.
So what are the positives from this weekend, I hear you ask:
- The old cot was moved into the new baby room and I can actually see it, like really picture it as a baby's room now. I was even able to help lift it!
- We managed to find just enough time to build our toddler's new 'big bed'.
- She and I had a great time shopping for bedding chosen by her (and she managed to choose from the Sale!)
- The toddler room is now (more or less) finished! Just need to get her a wee desk and chair (so cute!) It should do her for the next few years at least.
- The cot fit! I wasn't 100% sure it would as it really is a very, VERY small room, but it fits and from what i can see so will the rest of the furniture we need :)
There is plenty left to do (hospital bag anyone?!) but I feel 100000000 x better heading into maternity leave knowing that the big jobs are mostly done, and the little things (and the toddler!) will keep me occupied until baby arrives.
All in all, a pretty successful weekend :)
Tokophobia - The Fear
Tokophobia is a fear of childbirth or labour.
I have 'The fear'
Big time.
As the weeks tick by in this, our second pregnancy, I am becoming increasingly anxious at the thought of the 'final exam'. With our first there was an element of worry, obviously, but it was a fear of the unknown. It could only build to a certain level and nothing more as I didn't fully understand what there was to be afraid of. How could I? I'd never done this before. I did what I could and armed myself with as much knowledge as possible. I knew I had a pretty high pain threshold going in and I read up on all the options available to me with regards to relieving some of that pain. What more could I do?
My birth, on paper, looks like every first-time-mum's dream. No interventions, no issues, no problems of any kind really. A quick 'Achoo!' and out she popped! I barely even made a sound.
Unfortunately, what the midwives (and my husband) failed to realise at the time was that I was quiet for a very different reason to what they may have expected. Yes, my birth plan (HA!) alluded to the use of hypnobirthing techniques and maintaining a relaxed (HA HA!) atmosphere. Yes, between contractions I 'rested' as my body took over and suddenly learned how to 'power nap'. But it was not Zen I was experiencing. It was trauma.
I was quiet because I knew the only sound I could make would be an all-consuming, blood-curdling scream, and I was frightened if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.
I was still because I was trying desperately to disconnect with what was happening, to leave my body behind.
I was drifting in and out of consciousness because I was honestly, genuinely, willing myself to die.
I wasn't pushing. I knew that. My body was contracting and the urge was there, but I ignored it for as long as I possibly could. Having never done this before in my life, I knew EXACTLY what was happening, and what would happen next. I remember saying 'I'll try a push now'. The midwives didn't even have their gloves on when she arrived, all of 2.5 seconds later.
I had pushed once.
Sounds great right?
My body didn't think so. It was too fast. She tore her way out of me before I'd even registered what was happening and 'exploded' onto my socks. I didn't even see it happening. I was facing the wrong way (on my hands and knees). Apparently she was born still inside her bag of water. There was just enough of a pause for my husband to describe the scene before him as 'weird' and 'wet' before she was in the world and sprawled across my feet.
Afterwards one of the girls commented that she was sure the only reason I hadn't fainted from shock was that I was already lying down. I fully agreed.
So as I say, on paper, one push = lovely jubbly, job done.
Reality never quite matches our expectations though, does it.
I have 'The fear'
Big time.
As the weeks tick by in this, our second pregnancy, I am becoming increasingly anxious at the thought of the 'final exam'. With our first there was an element of worry, obviously, but it was a fear of the unknown. It could only build to a certain level and nothing more as I didn't fully understand what there was to be afraid of. How could I? I'd never done this before. I did what I could and armed myself with as much knowledge as possible. I knew I had a pretty high pain threshold going in and I read up on all the options available to me with regards to relieving some of that pain. What more could I do?
My birth, on paper, looks like every first-time-mum's dream. No interventions, no issues, no problems of any kind really. A quick 'Achoo!' and out she popped! I barely even made a sound.
Unfortunately, what the midwives (and my husband) failed to realise at the time was that I was quiet for a very different reason to what they may have expected. Yes, my birth plan (HA!) alluded to the use of hypnobirthing techniques and maintaining a relaxed (HA HA!) atmosphere. Yes, between contractions I 'rested' as my body took over and suddenly learned how to 'power nap'. But it was not Zen I was experiencing. It was trauma.
I was quiet because I knew the only sound I could make would be an all-consuming, blood-curdling scream, and I was frightened if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.
I was still because I was trying desperately to disconnect with what was happening, to leave my body behind.
I was drifting in and out of consciousness because I was honestly, genuinely, willing myself to die.
I wasn't pushing. I knew that. My body was contracting and the urge was there, but I ignored it for as long as I possibly could. Having never done this before in my life, I knew EXACTLY what was happening, and what would happen next. I remember saying 'I'll try a push now'. The midwives didn't even have their gloves on when she arrived, all of 2.5 seconds later.
I had pushed once.
Sounds great right?
My body didn't think so. It was too fast. She tore her way out of me before I'd even registered what was happening and 'exploded' onto my socks. I didn't even see it happening. I was facing the wrong way (on my hands and knees). Apparently she was born still inside her bag of water. There was just enough of a pause for my husband to describe the scene before him as 'weird' and 'wet' before she was in the world and sprawled across my feet.
Afterwards one of the girls commented that she was sure the only reason I hadn't fainted from shock was that I was already lying down. I fully agreed.
So as I say, on paper, one push = lovely jubbly, job done.
Reality never quite matches our expectations though, does it.
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