Does Hating Pregnancy Make Me A Bad Mom?

I didn’t know it yet but the next nine months would be the most miserable of my entire life

In my mind, the story of how I found out I was pregnant is a funny one. My husband and I had started a beautiful trip in Half Moon Bay and drove down the Pacific Coast Highway to Napa Valley where we would spend three indulgent days sipping (sometimes gulping) copious amounts of fine wine. I hadn’t been feeling quite right since we’d arrived in California but I chalked it up to time zone and well, the wine. We drove down to San Francisco to spend another few days and it was there that I realized I was not feeling right at all. It wasn’t particularly hot and I wasn’t in bad shape—but for some reason I was finding it extremely difficult to walk around and sightsee. 

“Maybe it’s all the hills?” I said to my husband.

“Maybe you’re pregnant?” He responded. 

That couldn’t be it, I convinced myself—nonetheless, we went to Walgreens to buy a test. Buying a pregnancy test, in many ways, is like buying condoms as a young adult. It just seems awkward and like a general invitation for everyone in the drugstore to judge you. Why? I’m not quite sure. 

You can imagine what happens next; we get back to our hotel room and I take not one but both tests because at that point I am not convinced of its accuracy. To say that I was flooded with mixed emotion, is an understatement. In fact, I don’t think it would be possible for me to accurately describe how I’d felt in that moment. I’m not even sure my husband knew how to react in that moment either. 

I didn’t know it yet but the next nine months would be the most miserable I would ever be in my entire life. 

The first trimester is awful because of the exhaustion, the uncontrollable nausea and vomiting and the overall adjustment to the changes in your body. But for me, the worst part of the whole thing is the fact that you can’t tell anyone. I mean, you can, but there’s that unspoken/spoken from your doctor rule that you should wait until you are at least twelve weeks. So here I am, feeling sick and trying to make my way through the work day unable to tell anyone why. 

They say that the second trimester is the easiest of the three; I don’t believe it. This is the trimester where everything started to feel real in a terrifying way. Physically, my body was changing—it seemed like I would go to bed and wake up heavier, wider, with weird dark spots on my body and with more blemishes. Mentally, this was extremely difficult for me as well—I’m someone who struggles with body image and these changes were very tough to swallow. I had to be very careful not to fall into a place where I restricted eating in an attempt to keep my weight down. 

By the time trimester three showed up, I was an emotional monster. Everything made me cry, I was a paranoid mess and very easily offended. 

Labour and delivery came and went—another story on its own—and here I was left holding the most incredible gift that I could have ever received. In the moments after my son was born, I couldn’t think of anything but him and how special he was. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable my forty-eight hour labour was and how much I disliked pregnancy. Nothing else mattered.

When anyone asks whether I would do it again, my answer is a resounding no but who knows, maybe that will change in a few years.  

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