So after my birth story post, I figured it would be appropriate to discuss the fact that I hated being pregnant. And I am not ashamed to admit it.
I didn’t know for about two months so, for eight months (because pregnancy is actually ten) I was a miserable mess. I was severely depressed the first trimester and sick at night. I experienced two nervous breakdowns (not even remotely helped by forces outside my body). And later I got to have the fun experience of trying to determine whether or not my hormones were surging or if my bipolar had become rapid cycling. I went from sobbing with uncontrollable sadness to absolute rage in zero-point-five seconds. All. The. Time.
And let’s not forget the crippling anxiety I suffer from on a daily basis. Add a tiny human growing inside of you like a parasitic alien and you try to remain calm. Not likely.
Everything was weird as hell and gross and painful. Think metric amounts of deep-seated bone pain.
I was utterly exhausted. It’s supposed to let up by month three but no.
No, I slept 3/4 of twenty-four hours every damn day.
And pregnancy glow? Forget it.
I think the fact that pregnancy is hard for some women is becoming more normalized. We aren’t to “accepted” yet, though. In an effort to help my fellow scared and/or suffering sisters I am going to do an on-going series about how I dealt with the crap of growing a human. I will call it: Surviving Pregnancy. Because I couldn’t think of anything witty.
Consider this the intro.