At 19 weeks into my own pregnancy, this is the conclusion I’ve come to. Am I the only one that thinks a process which makes the act of consuming food torturous, at exactly the same time your diet becomes more than ever before, is flawed? Admittedly, eating has become less of a chore in the second trimester, but between constantly belching like a teenage boy chugging soda to an increasingly limited number of comfortable sleeping positions, I’m not sold on the experience.
I’ve been doing a lot of research. I’m reading every thing from mommy bloggers debating epidurals to the Mayo Clinic’s week by week summary. Pretty much everyone, doctors and bloggers alike, reference this “glow” pregnant women experience. A warm, fuzzy feeling that radiates from toes to earlobes every time a woman looks at her belly. Unless this glow refers to light reflecting off of my sweat, I don’t know what they’re all talking about. I’m waiting for the fuzzy feeling. Seriously, any time now.
Maybe my hormones are off. Although, I’ve done so many blood and urine tests at this point, I’d think somebody would have noticed and told me if they were.
Do not misunderstand me. I’m not upset about being pregnant. I’m not regretting it. Really, I’m a huge fan of family. Go family! “More family,” I say. I can’t wait to go to school plays and put colorful, abstract renditions of the family pets on the refrigerator. I’m just not a huge fan of the pregnancy part and based on the vast majority of what is online, this feeling (or lack of) puts me firmly in the minority of women.
Reading the material available for pregnant women and new mothers, it’s pretty clear there are millions of women who dream about being pregnant. They yearn for it. They wish, hope, pray and stare longingly through store windows at baby clothes. I have never felt this. I never dreamed about being pregnant and giving birth was never on my list of life goals. In complete honesty, getting pregnant has yet to give me even half the personal satisfaction that finishing my master’s degree did.
When my husband came home from the doctor two years ago and said we might have trouble getting pregnant, I said “We can just adopt. There are plenty of kids that need parents.” I truly didn’t feel any sense of loss. What I wanted down the line was a family and that, at least in my mind, never required my being pregnant.
I understand many women feel a need to be pregnant, but I can’t empathize. I’m thrilled the baby is healthy and growing. I’ve got a library’s worth of book coming that will tell everything from how her synapses are forming to all the colors her poop can come and what they mean. Her nursery color scheme and theme are set five months before she’ll need it. Yet even amidst the nesting, there is a feeling Audrey will be an only child. At least, the only one I’m giving birth to. I’ve told my husband we can totally have more kids but it’s his turn to gestate. He assures me this won’t be possible. I shrug my shoulders and say “Well, there are lots of kids who need good parents and a big sister.”
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