Posted by: Modern Mom | June 18, 2014

The Reality of Pregnancy

It has been on my heart for a long time to share my story. My biggest stumbling block was, “where do I start?” I suppose I should start at the beginning. Makes sense, right? This comes as a result of a recent conversation with another mama friend who, like me, was trying to hold it together on the outside to her own detriment.  So, this is the first of what will hopefully be a good series of in-depth looks into the reality, the good, the bad and the ugly, of being a new mom.

Before I decided to have kids I researched it. No kidding. Mostly I researched pregnancy and childbirth. I was scared to death of both. Well… mostly of the baby having to come out at the end. It just didn’t make any physical sense to me how something so large could come out…. well, you get it. I was terrified. So before I got myself into the predicament of actually BEING pregnant and having to face that inevitable end, I wanted to know ALL the gory details.

There’s stuff they don’t tell you in books. Did you know that? Ugly, weird stuff. Fortunately (or maybe UNfortunately) all of that stuff is on the internet. Ahhh, the internet. If you want to get REALLY scared about having a baby, this is the sure fire way to do it.

Despite everything I read on the internet -and a small mental breakdown afterward- I eventually decided I could handle whatever pregnancy threw at me. I was prepared. Ha!

I heard from several of my friends that they didn’t really remember that stuff and after all was said and done, it wasn’t really a big deal. Some even touted how wonderful pregnancy was. You had more hair (something I could always get behind). Your skin might just clear up and look fabulous (also something I was excited about). Some even said they felt a bit euphoric when pregnant. Psh! Liars. All of them. I think they just plain forgot all the other crap. Either that or they’re vindictive witches that want you to be in their club.

Why is all that good stuff wasted on us when we’re pregnant? Why not have great hair and skin when we’re not pregnant? You know, for the other 99.9% of our lives. I’d rather look like I feel when I’m pregnant. Disgusting. Then maybe that annoying stranger who feels the need to come and fondle your baby bump completely uninvited would just back the hell off.

I know everyone is different, but pregnancy really sucked for me. I didn’t have an unusual or hard pregnancy, per se, but it was hard on me. Mentally and physically. I didn’t like not having my body to myself. I was completely and totally exhausted all the time. I couldn’t make it through the day. I felt like a narcoleptic. Or a bobble head doll. Constantly catching myself falling asleep.

I felt seasick for nine months. The first four were the worst, but it was like being on a boat and having motion sickness 24 hours a day for nine months. There were days I would pray to just throw up and be done with it for good. But that never happened. I think I ate my weight in natural ginger candies and ginger soda.

I have a powerful sense of smell on a regular day, but during pregnancy it became known as the Spidey Sense. Onions, peppers, garlic and poultry were not allowed in my house. I couldn’t handle it. If a loaf of bread was even considering molding I could smell it. Something about to expire in the fridge? I knew about it. If hubby had something offensive for lunch, I couldn’t be around him that evening because I could smell his breath. You get the idea.

I ached all the time. I couldn’t drink alcohol or eat the soft cheeses I love. I was cranky. Always. Talk about the ultimate mood swings. Manic Depressive style mood swings. I hated not really being in control of my own emotions.

I had to pee ALL the time. I spent so much time in the bathroom that I literally told the guys I worked with that if they needed anything to just slide it under the bathroom door. And I waddled. Long before it was really necessary for me to waddle, I waddled. What’s that about? How embarrassing. I didn’t even have the bump that would explain the waddle.

They don’t really tell you about nesting. The psychotic urge to scrub the outside layer off of everything you own. I scrubbed things I never paid any attention to before. I used a toothbrush. No kidding. I took my oven apart to clean the whole thing piece by piece. Seriously? What baby is going to be using the oven? He wouldn’t even eat anything out of it for months. It was irrational. Just like almost everything else I did.

The day of my baby shower, during my shower, that boy dropped. You can actually see the progression in my face in the shower photos. I went from, “Oh, what a nice shower!” to “Good GOD what the heck is pushing on my pelvis?!” I was convinced he was trying to escape early. He sat at zero station for a month. I walked like John Wayne that last month. Bow legged and a real cranky wince on my face.

And I never slept. I could never get comfortable. I bought every pregnancy pillow known to man. I took up the whole bed with them. I surrounded myself in a nest of pillows. People came up to me while I was pregnant and said asinine things like, “get some sleep now, while you can!” I would smile through gritted teeth trying not to succumb to the urge to punch them. “While I can” my giant white petoot. There was no sleeping.

There’s a reason for that last month of pregnancy. It’s the month that takes you from being hesitant or scared of birth to “get this thing out of me already” mode. That last month was excruciating. The pain from him pressing on my pelvis. The complete and utter exhaustion. The fear and anxiety. The inability to tolerate my husband. Or any other person, really. I hated people that month. All of them. Especially that unsuspecting stranger who feels the need to come tell me some gem about pregnancy, or babies, or touch me in any way. I might have gone on a killing spree had the child not come out. If pregnant women weren’t so stinking exhausted there might be more pregnancy related killing sprees. Like I said, there’s a good reason for that last month. I was now READY for whatever it would take to get him OUT.

I just wasn’t ready for what would come after he was out.


  1. […] This is part of a series that began here. […]


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