January 26, 2021
It was a chilly and damp morning here in Clermont, and I assume like most mornings as of late I dozed off after dropping off my spawn at school. I woke up slowly, hearing the cars drive down the street harmonizing with my dogs snores. Once my eyes were fully open I saw that I had chocolate croissant crumbs all over my stomach and chest. Which is odd because I don’t even remember eating anything. My mouth is dry and taste stale and the light pouring in our windows hurts my eyes. There’s a constant ringing that echoes in this old house. It’s relentless enough to drive you mad. I drown it out with my cluttered thoughts of self-pity and loathing.
I ache in so many places; my head, my legs, my nether regions and my ever growing bump. The constant pull and push from my muscles feels tight and stretches my skin until it feels like it could snap. I wonder how much longer my body and mind can endure the pain.
I douse myself in oils, balms and lotions, anything to give my skin some relief. But I feel like I can watch my stomach actually expanding right in front of me. How much more will my skin have to take until its all said and done? Its something that our bodies have done since the beginning of time and yet all the changes and semantics of it all amazes and overwhelms me. My body feels like a gift and a torture device. Life growing inside of me, getting bigger and stronger every day all while I feel drained and weakened with every breath.
Oh, what I would give for a good nights rest. A night without the heartburn, without my legs seizing up on me while I try to accommodate my bits amongst the pillow cocoon I’ve created. A night where I don’t have to make my way to and from the bathroom, holding up my stomach with one hand and bracing myself amongst the furniture and walls with the other. Just one night where my body fully rests in complete peace and comfort. Instead, my body wakes itself up every couple of hours, in search of a comfortable position and I moan, take deep breaths and just hope my cries don’t wake up my husband. Oh, what I’d give…
I know I have to get up from this chair and dust off the croissant crumbs off of my body, but I just lay here like a lump. Dreading how much it will all hurt the second I begin to move my limbs. Now, I have to decide whether the pain from my aching body or the heightened sensation of needing to pee is more pressing to my present needs. The pee, the bladder pain always wins. As I begin the ascend of this swollen body up from my chair and down the hall, taking deep breaths with every step I can feel all the pain and emotions welling up inside me. I’m home alone, so either way this venture is all on me. No one here to guide me to the restroom and no one here to help me if I stumble. Even as I power through the pressure on my muscles the thoughts always creep their way through – the self-pity and anger take over.
“Why is this so hard for me?”
“Why does my body react to pregnancy this way?”
“This isn’t normal, this isn’t right, this isn’t fair!”
“What the fuckin’ fuck is wrong with me?”
“Why am I not strong enough?”
This is my second time around and although this pregnancy is completely different than the last, both have been equally soul sucking. I’m not sure how I’ll make it another 80 or so days.
Eighty days of little to no appetite. Heart burn as soon as I set foot on the floor in the morning, before I’ve even eaten or drank a thing. The constant swelling of my limbs throughout the day and oh, the pain in my lady parts. My poor, poor body. How making these miracles has almost pushed it and me right over the edge. I’m desperately trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but this pandemic, new country, and countless obstacles have just beat me down at every turn.
Finding it so hard to be patient, patient enough to hold my bundle of chunky sweetness and overwhelming love. I need relief. I need a moment of calm without the pain. I need my body to begin to mend.
The scars will be the tiny trophies I carry with me for the rest of my days. I soon hope I will have the strength to walk with grace as everyone sees the spoils of war written all over my skin like brail. The unforgiving pain and suffering my poor temple has sustained for months and months will soon be a forgotten memory, right? Once my lap is filled with my little girl and my baby boy, my body will begin to heal. I pray for healing.
Give me strength. Give me patience. Give me peace.
I’m begging you.