Need to Share

Everyone has their own story. Here's where to share it. The following is mine:

I remember being incredibly disappointed in pregnancy. I envisioned the picture of health and beauty; but for me, that was not to be. I rather resembled a troll-ish, she-devil whose raging hormones governed many heated conflicts over coveted food.

I developed acne that defied the laws of physics (Sadly, seven years later, I’m still recovering from the scars). In the first four months, I was perpetually starving because I was too nauseous to eat. Then in some sort of revenge, I packed on 40-plus pounds in the following five months. (No one bothered to warn me that in the last month the pounds pile on without any design by me.) So, at that point, I resembled a roly-poly, troll-ish, she-devil.

I never seemed to have the pregnancy glow or the “feeling wonderful” that so many women seemed to brag about.  Instead, I remember complaining of joint hip and back pain as well as the countless restless nights. Whoever said that you should get your sleep while you're pregnant, because you won’t get sleep afterwards, apparently forgot how uncomfortable it is to sleep with a six-pound basketball strapped to your belly. I say "Get sleep before you're pregnant," because you won't get any for the next two years!

Oh, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those silly pregnant women that would ungracefully squat to pickup dropped items, but there I was at eight months squatting to pick up my leg, of all things, in order to put on my pants. Pants, I tell you! Well, I've since comforted myself with the science of the matter. Physically, you can not lift your knee into your bulging belly; so, the only place left for your knee to go is off to the side of your gargantuan bump. Try reaching your foot over a basketball, while standing with your raised knee out to the side. Pants, I tell you! Putting them on, not considering grace, is a Cirque du Soleil act in pregnancy.

That brings us to another disdainful topic--the clothes. I didn't quite have the budget to restock my wardrobe with new, fashionable maternity clothes, which I think are totally over-priced but that is another topic worthy of a pedestal. So, I ended up being about as fashionable as a second grader in a thrift store. I basically put on whatever fit and didn’t make me uncomfortable. That school of thought did not impress my husband. But roly-poly, hormone, she-devil sadly didn’t really care.

I could go on, but I suppose the point is made. If you are like me or the perfect picture of pregnancy, it’s all a journey and it’s all worth it in the end; if for nothing else but a laugh. Of that point, there is no debate.