For some reason I’ve found myself surrounded by pregnant women recently. Not young nubile first-timers either, but women my age. Give or take a few white lies.
There’s the mom of two who’s sheepishly asking me if I’d ever consider a third, the telltale sign–if I’ve ever heard it–that she’s already carrying one of them there fertilized eggs around with her. There’s the mom with the size 0 body and the teeny baby bump who keeps complaining about howwww faaaat she is. And there’s the friend who’s stuck on bedrest so I bring over the kids and some chocolate once a week and we order in dinner.
What I’ve come to realize in recent weeks is that I do not miss being pregnant one single bit. Not a smidge. Not even a teeny little fraction of a microbe of an iota, if there is such a thing.
Spending time with these women, these beautiful, glowing paeans to fertility, it reminds me of those things about pregnancy I do not miss – little hairs that cropped up in mysterious places, the nipples the size of pancakes, the inability to order spicy tuna rolls. I forgot about how the humidity seemed to affect my ankles more than my hair (which is saying something). I forgot that I was supposed to feel guilty every time I ate brie. I forgot about the sleepless nights, the hormonal fluctuations that lead to the Random Bursts of Crying. I forgot that abject look of horror on my face the first time I spotted myself in our lobby’s full-length mirror and realized that my ass was sticking out even further than my belly.
I was definitely not a good pregnant person. And oh, bless you women who are because I know there are more of your kind than there are of mine. Bless you bless you.
Of course I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there were lovely, lovely aspects of those 40 weeks that I wouldn’t have traded for all the Twix bars in the world – the generous smiles from strangers on the street, the first fluttery baby kicks, the joy of never having to suck in your stomach at a party. But while some women just wear their pregnancy like a bespoke red carpet ensemble from Milan, me, I mostly felt like a big, fat, teetotaling incubator.
But today, the further I get from those days, the fuzzier it all seems. Like some evil hazing ritual I had to endure to get to the joy on the other side.
(And by joy I mean joy plus being kicked in the head all night by a crazy non-sleeping two year-old. )
I can safely say that the ovaries have waved the white flag and the fallopian tubes are well into enjoying their retirement, despite depleted 401(k)s and the iffy June weather. You could waterboard my uterus and it would still refuse to go back to its intended biological use. Mostly I think it’s just happy to hang out and support my bladder. Maybe catch up on reality TV.
There are twinges you feel when you get to a certain age (ahem) and realize that soon, it won’t be your own choice to have another child; it will be up to your body.
It’s nice being okay with that.
65 shards of brilliance… read them below or add one
Glad I did it (especially glad I had one last unexpected chance at it), but even more glad that it's over.
I'm in what I call the waffling phase. I turn 40 in a few months and wonder if I could just squeeze in one more pregnancy before the big M comes. But I am really happy with my two kids, have had two miscarriages and don't want to go there again, and am really wondering whether I want to rock the [very comfortable] boat. Like, could I really do sleepless nights again??? Not to mention months 6-9 of pregnancy at my tired old age? I guess mostly I just really resent that it will stop being my choice soon. Sigh.
I love this. Thank you! I did not even think that I could get pregnant with my health problems and yet he is now 6. I too remember the good and the bad. The bed rest, the itching and heartburn. The thing following me and yet attached one could rest a tray on. I will never do it again and yet I look at the boy I created and think “Wow, I did that, really?”
If I ever win the lottery, I would like to adopt a little girl and move in a nanny too because they really are too cute (when they are not whining and talking back).
Dude.
My uterus is too-happily planning her retirement and, well, I HAVE SOMEONE IN THERE.
I used to want three kids, but my DH convinced me of only having two. I had a wonderfully indulgent first pregnancy and this second one is going well, too. But I have to say it is HARD being pregnant and looking after a toddler. I don't want to do it again…ever. So, I am thrilled with my decision to only go for two kids and that this will be my last pregnancy. Meanwhile I have a friend about to give birth to her fourth and she's SO sad it will be her last time. I don't know how she does it.
If there was a way to remove that uterus of mine without surgeries or hormonal repercussions, I would be ALL over that. Because I am DONE. Done done done. Never again, thanks. Once was more than enough.
We went to a farm the other day and saw a huge pig in labor. The way she was breathing and just lying there convinced me that, without a doubt, I would NEVER EVER want to go through labor again. Oh, I was so happy that I was not that pig.
You know what I think is amazing? How quickly I really, truly forgot what it felt like to be pregnant. I mean, I remember that I puked for days and days and nights and nights on end. I remember the cervix tromp. And the rib pain and the heartburn…but I can't quite put my finger on what they all felt like.
I think there's some kind of evolutionary/god-given amnesia about this stuff. No big news here, but just interesting to recall. Because despite the fact that I was a pretty sicko preggo, and have no intentions of doing it again…I kinda want to remember what it really felt like. Because it couldn't have been *that* bad. Heh.
I'm one of the weirdos that loved being pregnant. My last pregnancy was harder though, but I knew it was my last and I still loved the experience (though I did complain more).
We are done, hubby had the V, although I see that's not such a sure thing. Not sure how I feel about that possibility.
Amen, sister. I was the WORST pregnant woman in the world; hated every second and felt very skeptical (but secretly very envious) of those who said they didn't!
I still keep thinking about a third…LOATHE the idea of pregnancy, but trying to decide if I can take it anyway, in pursuit of the larger goal. Some days yes, some days no…
I'm kinda begging my body to go through The Change already and spare me the fucking angst!
I love my baby, but did not enjoy carrying her for 9 months. After two children – I couldn't do it again. It took such a toll on my body, I can't even begin to explain. However, I would consider adding a new addition to my family if I could be in this mom's shoes:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iURGJpoEcn0
My best friend e-mailed this to me earlier today. Quality mom humor!
I needed to read this post today! Im almost 11 weeks into my 3rd pregnancy (miscarried a few months before this at 11 weeks) and I am just really not good at being pregnant. I dont change anything about food or exercise- I even manage to throw up AT LEAST once a day- but yet my butt and things look like they are each carrying twins. And I am surrounded by pregnant women who have no problems. None. Only belly, no All Day Sickness, no tears- nothing. And then there is me who is laying on the floor shaking from being so sick so many times today and its great to lay here trying not to move and hearing that at least someone else out there is also miserable when knocked up.
One of these Women Who Cruise Thrugh Pregnancy even told em its just that “some women are made for pregnancy.” Even here the judgement and *you must be doing something wrong* is present? Sheesh.
I HATED being pregnant. I was so nauseous the first sixteen weeks that the only thing I could eat were “preggy pops” (whoever came up with that name needs shooting), I lost 16lbs or so those first weeks. I was signed off work I was so ill and then started bleeding so had to have an early scan. Then after the nausea settled I pulled a ligament in my lover abdomen so was in and out of hopital for that, then I had a b12 deficiency that required bi-daily injections, THAT REALLY HURT, over the course of two weeks. I had the heartburn to end all heartburn, doing middle of the night runs down to the 24hr supermarket for yet more antacids. It was the hottest summer for about 10 years so I was fat and HOT. I had itchy, itchy stretch marks and was using lotion like it was going out of fashion.
To top it off he was breech. So breech that he couldn't be turned.
So breech that he had to be an elective section. During that I kept passing out on the table. Then he was all blue and had to have oxygen and I wasn't the first person to hold him. I was so whacked out on painrelief that I remember very little of the birth and that makes me very sad. would I change my Son? No, never in a million years. Would I do it again. I'm still not ready to go there and my son will be four in October. He wants a sister.
Aside from the first trimester, I kinda liked being pregnant. When you consider that I lost weight with each pregnancy, that made me like it even more.
But once they're out and I have to deal with them as newborns? That part I don't like as much.
Yup. Me too.