…but then shit gets real.

I’m 29 weeks and two days today. Though I went out for preterm labor at 30 weeks last time, I’ve gotten familiar with which signs to look out for, and I’ve done better at warding off excessive Braxton Hicks, cramping, dehydration, and malnutrition. At this point, we have as little as eight more weeks to go, and as many as thirteen. All I know is this: I am ready to not be pregnant anymore.

Pregnancy and motherhood gets mislabeled all the time in our culture. The expectation is that a woman with children is fulfilled and happy. Her cup runneth over with the joyous reality of caring for another small being that is a part of her. Motherhood is the supposed end game for women’s adult development, and the vehicle through which most of us become mothers, pregnancy, is a joyous time as well. We glow, we show, we grow. All of it is happy, reeks of cotton candy and sprinkles, and provides ultimate satisfaction.

pause for laughter

The aforementioned is definitely a part of motherhood and pregnancy for most. In my eyes, having children serves as a representation of the love my husband and I share, and getting to have that representation coo, crawl, and walk about with an inane cuteness that I myself could never have dreamt up warms my heart. But then, shit gets real. My toddler daughter has picked up habits like talking back, telling small lies, and refusing to sleep in her own bed again. I deal with these, along with her other typical 3-year-old antics while also harboring a growing baby boy who seems to want to kick his way into the world, at the expense of my own comfort. He nauseates me (yes, the nausea has returned as of last week), puts insane amounts of pressure on my back and pelvis, turns me away from certain foods, sends me running to the bathroom at least six times a night, keeps me from sleeping, and requires a massive nutritional intake that I’ve never had to maintain in my life just to sustain myself.

And my symptoms and dealings aren’t even the worst I’ve seen or heard of.

Some women have children who are much worse in the behavior department than Kennedy is, and receive no help from their spouse or other family in disciplining. Some women have to work outside of the home – I have the luxury of working full time from within my house. Some women are sick through their entire pregnancies and have to be placed on meds; I don’t feel great, but I haven’t vomited due to nausea so far, and am not on special medication to keep me hydrated or nourished.

Some women can’t carry.

So you see, while the entrance to motherhood and subsequent wild ride afterward can bring joy, it can also bring a lot of heartache and pain. A woman’s cup runneth over with things to worry about, circumstances to deal with, and both physical and mental setbacks.

It will be a mental fight more than anything for me to get to the finish line and meet my son. I love him so much. I’m so grateful God chose me for him. But oh my gosh am I tired of what this is doing to me. Compared to who I was at the start of this year, I’m pretty sedentary, lifeless, and sometimes feel useless. I dream of returning to pole dancing, weight lifting, and serious power yoga. I dream of being able to fire on all cylinders again. I miss who I was. I know some part of her is never coming back because she now has two children to care for, but even being able to resemble some version of her again would make me happy.

 

Thankfully, I’ve got a good team surrounding me and am not in this alone.🌸

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