Romanticism

Let's talk pregnancy. I have heard so many women talk about loving pregnancy, loving the way they looked and felt. I'm wondering if it's all romanticism? Because it seems like baloney to me.

I started out feeling sick. I was barfing at work, feeling lightheaded from standing, overheating from walking while on rounds. Total yuckfest.

Then, I headed into the exhaustion phase. Total, complete exhaustion. Like come home from work and crawl into bed for a nap exhaustion.

Next, I headed into the obsessive-worry-please-don't-let-me-miscarry-phase. This was followed by doctor's appointments which went quite well, but during which I could barely breathe while I waited to hear the heartbeat and see the four chambers of the heart.

Now, I'm in the awkward weight gain phase with the poochy belly that looks like I'm still carrying around some extra turkey and mashed potatoes from Thanksgiving. I don't love the weight gain. I don't think I realized how secure I've come to feel over the years in my clothes that have fit day in and day out. It was always my measure that I was doing okay. The scale is a monster and not really trustworthy, but the pants that slipped on and off each day were the measuring stick. The pant are still going on, but without so much of the slipping effect. It's more of a tug and pull at this point. It's very strange to gain this weight and know that it's really good because my baby is the size of a pomegranate now, but to feel ever-so-slightly out of control anyway.

I've also had leg cramps, shortness of breathe after climbing stairs, dry skin, and heartburn.

I mean, what a freaking blast, right?

All that being said, there is truly a miracle going on inside me. A living, breathing human is forming and growing and will pop out in a matter of months for me to raise and try my best not to screw up. I did feel the baby this week which was quite an experience and somewhat terrifying. It felt like little tiny fists punching me from the inside. My baby boy is abusive. Bummer.

So, maybe this is what women remember...the miracle of life inside, the first movements that are felt as a mother, the dreams of what a child will be and look like. This must be it because I simply don't care to remember all the other "delights" of pregnancy.