23.6.15

The Don't Beat Yourself Up Guide To Being Pregnant

Congratulations! Chances are if you are reading this you are expecting a baby. You may have just found out the exciting news or could be a fair few months in. It could have been a much longed for child or one that came along as a pleasant surprise. Either way? You are over the moon and are loving every minute of this joyous 40 week journey. People are complimenting you are on how well you look. Your bump is the size of a small basketball and you are still rocking skinny jeans, a thong and heels...

...or you are, like I was, a giant, spotty, moaning psychotic loon. In giant pants, often seen running to the toilet whilst consuming ginger nut biscuits and shouting at my husband about such important things like "HOW DARE YOU COOK ME A SUNDAY LUNCH. I HATE THE SMELL OF STUFFING AND NOW I HATE YOU". I got leg cramps, I had that weird metallic taste in my mouth and the less said about my bodily fluids? The better. I was the worlds sh*test pregnant person.


I've got ONE photo of me pregnant where I look good and by God I shall use it!

Don't get me wrong. I was ecstatic to be pregnant. And I understand the struggle many women have to conceive and would adore to be in the position I was in. But? That doesn't mean I didn't hate it quite a lot. Sure there were the magical moments when I saw the first scan, or heard a heartbeat. Or felt those first tiny flutters. But there were also moments when I was lying in bed, feeling so sick, for so many hours, weeping. Lessons I had to run out of to go for a wee, and iron tablets that I had to consume that did unmentionable things to my poo.

But? That didn't mean 14 months after my first. I decided to go through it all over again. Because the end product was worth it. This time? It was worse. I was sicker, grumpier, more tired and hated the fact I couldn't carry my toddler properly or give her the attention she needed. Which still makes me gutted now. I feel like I missed a whole six months. In the scheme of life? Not so much. In the scheme of a one year old's life? Quite a bit. I look at photos from that time and I can still feel the sick rising to my mouth. I remember hours lying in bed researching morning sickness, ways to stop it and the reasons why I was acting psychotic.

It's pretty f*cked up that one of the most magical times in your life can also be one of the most pure exhausting and testing. Friends from that era will have wedding photos where I am grumpily drinking elderflower fizz in the background. Or hen dos where I have squeezed my belly into a 70's outfit whilst trying not to vom. I was there in body (and what a big body it was) but in spirit? I was hiding in my bed, watching TOWIE, angrily munching on dry crackers.


Just before I shouted at my husband. Probably.

With hindsight? I maybe should have took a bit better care of myself. Maybe expressed how I was feeling better than screeching like a wild animal. But I pretty much lost all control of my hormones and couldn't claw it back. I was a pretty crappy human being...well actually? I wasn't was I? I was doing something pretty amazing. I was growing a person. I grew two of them! I ROCKED!

I wish I could go back and say "You know what. You are being a total nightmare. But that's OK (bar the bits where you shout out your husband). It's OK. It will end. There will be a day where you poo isn't black, where you mouth doesn't taste like a penny and when you don't consume your bodyweight in ginger nuts." God. How I hated ginger nuts.

So once you're over this horrible stage. And next time it is the turn of your sister, or best friend and they are being utter ar*seholes. Take a deep breath, remember when you were a loon and give them a cuddle. Or a bloody god damn ginger nut. Vom.
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