Holy Shit! I’m pregnant Again!
Obviously over the last couple of months I’ve been fully aware of my situation. The countless and varying symptoms, my seesaw like temperament and my increasing girth is not something that can be ignored by me nor my husband. I guess I’m just a little shocked that its all actually happening, especially right now. I’m a 37 year old ball of anxieties, living abroad for the first time, during a plague and I’m pregnant. Holy shit! I’m pregnant again!
For those of you who know me and our story – the idea of a second pregnancy was out of the question before I had even given birth to my first child, Everly. Her pregnancy nearly killed me in every possible way. From being bulimic for nine months, in constant pain and discomfort to the peek-a-boo symptoms of postpartum to come. It wasn’t the picture of pregnancy I had in my mind. I didn’t glow, I was pale and weak from the constant regurgitation. I didn’t have fun cravings or get to pig out and blame it on “eating for two.” I consumed bland liquids and solids solely to survive and not have to re-taste my favorite foods on the way up again. It was a bit of a nightmare for me before I even had the chance to hold my little spawn of chaos and pure joy. It was something that I never wanted to do again. Ever.
Now, after several years of saying “Hell no!” to the incessant questions concerning procreation here I am; feet up, belly up and knocked up. Michael and I discussed this decision in length, weighed our options, listed pros and cons, had a date night, got tipsy and BAM! A few moments of love making lead to an actual human growing inside me. Not just the idea or concept we discussed for weeks on end, and actual human.
I find myself having brief day terrors, daydreams or flashes if you will of my upcoming doom, I mean labor. I’m scared shitless! First of all, I’m in a foreign country, where our initial welcome has been quite undesirable. I’m a million miles away from my mom, who may or may not be able to be here for the birth due to the plague. Covid has undoubtedly changed the lives of people all over the world and is the ruiner of all of our lives, hopes and dreams. Secondly, and mainly, the pain…. the fuckin’ pain! Mothers everywhere will completely lie to you and say, “Oh, you forget about the pain after a while, you’ll want another one as soon as possible, blah, blah, blah…” I call ALL the BULLSHIT! It’s been almost five years and I have not forgotten the pain of that 9 lb. butterball busting through my lady parts.
I totally get where “the moment they hand you that baby, it all melts away and nothing else matters….” But, I call partial bullshit on that too.
When they handed me Everly’s slimy little body I fell instantly in love, that part is one hundred percent true. However, with the outpouring of love and new emotions comes an instant feeling of relief. Relief of pressure, the relief that you survived, the relief that all the pushing was over. It was a disgustingly beautiful moment my husband, newborn and I had together and while we were checking out her chunky cheeks I was completely aware of some woman working on my busted under carriage. Physical and emotional multi-tasking I suppose. All while holding my beautiful daughter I could feel the doctor sewing me up, every stitch. I could smell blood, sweat and the very palpable funk that had been brewing between my beautiful husband and I for those 36 hours of labor. It was a feeling of immeasurable strength and vulnerability that I could never forget, and that is precisely why I’m scared out of my mind of what is to come.
How the hell am I going to do this again? I’m older, crankier, weaker, and a little emotionally unstable due to our year thus far. Can I physically, emotionally and mentally go through this trauma again? I’m hoping the answer is yes.
I know I’m talking crazy, and I know somehow the warrior in me will do whatever I have to do to bring another little stinker into the world, but I’m scared and that just has to be okay. Even though I’ve been there, even though I hit the rockiest of bottoms during my previous postpartum, even though there are days I feel like the worst mother in all the land… I somehow have to get my shit together. I have 160-ish days left to see if I have what it takes to birth another human. I know once they hand me that slimy little kid, and I see their tiny little fingers and toes I’ll be in love all over again. But, hear me ladies and gents…
You’ll see a somewhat polished version of our little family posted on the Facebook or the Gram after all the hard work is done, but just know that underneath that hospital gown its a fuckin’ war zone. So, while you’re oohing and aahing over whatever chunkiness has exited my body, and looking at how adorable Michael and Everly are being with the new baby, just know that the only thing on my mind is, “Holy shit, these assholes aren’t going to let me leave until I poop!”