I hate being pregnant.
“Wow.”
“That’s a pretty harsh statement, Camille.”
I know it and I mean it. I know it’s a completely different opinion from someone who has documented their struggle to get/stay pregnant, but I stand by it. Pregnancy is a means to an end for me.
Now, before you furiously type in the comments about how lucky I am to experience this true act of God, let me explain. I don’t hate being pregnant for the superficial reasons. I am still currently dealing with all day sickness and extreme fatigue even in my second trimester. My skin is breaking out and I divert my eyes on the scale at my doctor’s appointments. My husband does everything around the house and with our six-year-old, and my mood swings more than kids at City Park.
And I am so so so thankful for it all.
Because if I wasn’t experiencing it, I would be losing my mind. On a day where my nausea isn’t awful I immediately freak out. Every weird yet normal pain is a call to the nurse. I’ve only had one emergency (it wasn’t an emergency) ultrasound that my doctor kindly granted when I felt “off.” Being pregnant, especially with my history, is so unbelievably stressful I feel I can’t enjoy it.
We didn’t tell people for the longest time due to fear, which I hate. We won’t buy anything pertaining to Baby until I’m at least 27 weeks along. I probably won’t take maternity pictures. It’s so hard to be excited or for it to “feel real” when you’ve suffered so much loss.
I am feeling more confident though. Now that I’ve seen our little baby four (!!!) times, and leggings are the only pants that fit me right now, I can’t be in denial forever. This is apparently happening with me afraid or not! I know how insanely blessed I am to even experience this. I also know when the baby actually arrives the worry can really begin. So I’m just getting started.
