I love my son, cannot wait for his birth, and would not change a thing for the world. That being said: this pregnancy sucks. I have honest to goodness lost count of how many times I have thrown up. And I'm not counting dry heaving in the morning, I mean gripping the toilet seat as I violently eject the entire contents of my stomach. Over. And Over. And Over.
Granted, since entering into the second trimester, I am now off the anti-vomit medication as instead of twice a day, my body only decides that it didn't actually want to digest anything once or twice a week. Though I now have a lot less warning. Before, I'd actually gag a few times, allowing myself time to get to the bathroom. Now, I get one if I'm lucky. It's just sudden. No warning. No nausea. Just a sudden reversal of the usual function of my esophagus. But like I said, still better than it was two months ago.
Two months into my second trimester, I have discovered some of the uglier, and less talked about, symptoms of a rough pregnancy. The heartburn, while less than pleasant, is dealt with so long as I have enough Tums around. The constipation, while uncomfortable, is also something that can be dealt with. The gas that accompanies the constipation is actually incredibly painful, but thankfully not very long lasting.
And then... then I became acquainted with what I like to call the hell of pregnancy. Worse than vomiting, worse than exhaustion, worse than constipation, and worse than gas. It is a silent suffering, for the most part. My husband knows my woes, but my even my northern frankness has difficulty telling anyone other than a medical professional about my pain, let alone asking for advice. After all, there are a number of socially acceptable responses to the question, "How is this pregnancy treating you?"
You can talk about nausea, you can talk about vomiting, you can talk about breast swelling, stretch marks, headaches, swollen feet, mood swings, bizarre cravings, and all of them will get a response of a sigh and some sympathy. What you don't respond with is "Actually, the pressure of the growing uterus on my anus has caused some of the blood vessels to swell up and now the very thought of pooping is horrifying. As if that wasn't bad enough, I have to shove some small white pills up my butt twice a day to try and make every moment less painful because the torture that pooping has become aside, I really never realized how important a non swollen anus is to every day life, namely walking."
That's right, ladies and gents, I've got hemorrhoids. Well. Just the one, actually. But the hatred I hold for it is deeper and more violent than any hate I have ever known. The very word is a swear word to me now. It belongs only in the deepest circle of hell. Certainly not part of the circle of life joy that is growing a human being inside your uterus. A human being who seems to get endless amounts of pleasure by kicking me when I want to go to sleep, or stretching out entirely when I'm trying to exercise. A human being who I have loved since the moment I let myself believe he was real, the first time I saw him and his tiny heartbeat when he was the size of a gummy bear. Now, roughly the length of a banana and just over a pound, my squirmy little kicker is ever more interested in revealing his presence in new and painful ways. I have been told to expect this for the rest of our lives together, as apparently this phenomena does not end at birth, but begins anew.
In all honesty, I can't wait. Bring on the blow outs, the self hair cuts, the glue and glitter, the screaming, the nonsense, the heartbreaks, the panic, and everything in between. I'm a mom now. I don't get to not talk about poop and all the things that go with it. Because everybody poops, and at some point in their life, everybody has trouble pooping. It's part of real life. A small part, to be sure. But maybe if we could get over the embarrassment of such a small thing, we wouldn't be so uncomfortable being real about the bigger things either.
