I wasn't going to update tonight because I am in a foul mood, but over at Julia's everyone is discussing their "morning" sickness and it had me thinking about my pregnancy with Leila and how, well, frankly awful it was.
Recently someone I know decided not to continue her pregnancy. This is someone I care for a lot, but I had a hard time with her decision, mostly because it seemed that her biggest motivator was that it became hard.
(Disclaimer here: I know that there were other factors. I am not judging her. I love her and support her. Please don't email me.)
When I was a wee little thing, I though that pregnancy would be FABULOUS. I thought I would be cute, all belly, glowy and sexy and rarin' to go in the bedroom. I'd read in about a million women's magazines that lots of women have increased sex drives during pregnancy, and I was sure I'd be one of them. I found the whole concept incredibly sexy and beautiful.
Delusion is so wonderful.
Here's how it played out: Feroze and I get married September 19. Around the first week of November I start thinking, "Huh. I sure don't feel too great." The week before Thanksgiving I go to the doctor for sciatic nerve pain, and hey, while we're here, I don't feel too great, let me take a pee test. The doctor died laughing. The strip changed colors the second my little pee drop hit it.
Eight weeks pregnant. I barfed in the car on the way home. I barfed every single day on the way to work. I would eat a chocolate popsicle, grab my plastic bags from the grocery store, and proceed to feel awful all the way to work.
Every. single. freaking. day. I would barf right as we pulled into the parking lot at the mall. I would throw up in the hallway trash can while waiting for my manager to arrive. I would throw up in the bathroom up to eight times a day. I lost twenty pounds. I passed out at work. Feroze asked me if I wanted to have an abortion because I was so very ill, but I told him he was crazy. I think he was pretty crazed with worry at that point. I would barf until I peed my pants, cry, go home from work, barf and cry some more.
Finally one of the midwives prescribed me Zofran. I still felt sick sometimes and I still barfed sometimes, but things were much improved.
They made me stop taking it at seven months and I barfed for a few weeks before it ended for good. At this point my sciatic nerve on my left side (the one that sent me to the doctor in the first place) was hurting like crazy. I was working tons, and at seven and a half months Leila was ridin' low, so I had to go on maternity leave.
All I'm sayin' is, it was NOT THAT GREAT.
But then she was born and I loved her and my labor (a story for another day) was not that bad. I did it totally naturally and, well, I was proud. And she's fabulous and I gladly would've barfed the whole damn time and all that schmoopy mommy stuff.
It's just like so many other things in life--what you think something is going to be like and what it actually is like are two totally different things. Nobody can tell you what your marriage or your pregnancy or your motherhood or anything will be like, because, well, you have to experience it for yourself. That's why it's good not to get too hung up on what you think your husband or your wedding or your college or ANYTHING will be like, because you might be so disappointed in the difference that you can't really enjoy it.
Feroze is totally different from the man I imagined myself with when I was sixteen--but he loves me. My life at (almost) 24 is nothing at all like what I imagined--but it's a good life, you know?
Wow, what was my point? Be grateful, I think. And also, take Zofran. ;-)