There is a difference between hating being pregnant and hating the offspring. I am already in love with the little creature who is bruising my ribs with its feet. I have no doubts that I will defend it to the death. No question. I am obsessed with the baby. But the process of pregnancy sucks. I can’t believe that people pine for this. More than once!
I guess I am glad that I tried pregnancy, but ughn, can the doctor tie my tubes while I am delivering? How quickly can they stick an IUD in there? How many forms of birth control are too many?
Pregnancy begins with nipples of fire and then progresses into three months of having the flu, complete with nausea, congestion and exhaustion. Slowly, one grows out of all of one’s favorite clothes. Beloved t-shirts and comforting garments must be put away in boxes with only the hope of ever fitting back into them again. You have to spend a mint on new bras, shirts and pants. You imagine that underwear will at least remain familiar, because it can ride under the belly, but nope – only loose socks retain their original place in the drawer.
If you are a boy, you must struggle every day to either embrace a forced version of drag or to find the wild unicorns that are gender-neutral-ish maternity clothes.
Unwelcome comments follow all pregnant chicks everywhere, and almost everyone is well-meaning, so you can’t snap at the neighbor for asking if it’s twins, at your mother in-law for asking if the doctor is concerned about your gargantuan size or at the bank teller, grocer, mail clerk, stranger or best friend who marvels over how long you have left until you deliver. They mean well, so you better relax and grow some tougher skin.
You cannot have beer to help you relax. Even if you were never a heavy drinker, you can no longer have more than a fraction of your weekly indulgence in a tasty alcoholic beverage – not when it sounds refreshing, not when you want to mope, not when everyone else has one. Sipping small amounts slowly is not a bad pastime, but you can’t really let loose.
Hormones do genuinely go crazy. The issues that are upsetting will be valid, but the emotional reaction to any stimulus will be be proportionately absurd, making puberty seem reasonable and calm.
Babies and the physical tissues that they require are heavy. Milk ducts get heavy, blood volume gets heavy, the placenta is heavy – and the majority of them pull on your round ligaments and squash your bladder. The alien that is sucking your blood also demands a certain layer of insulating fat that pinches in the elastic band or collar of every outfit.
Nesting is an interesting process, because, for once, you have a freakishly clean house, but the energy it takes to do all of this cleaning can leave a pregnant guy too exhausted to keep from nagging their loving partner to please stop walking through the entire frakking house with dirty shoes on!
After all of the yeast infections, gas, vitamin taking, being unattractive to at least half the world’s population, losing the physical inability to move even medium-sized objects solo and after feeling like a louse for complaining about the miracle of life, there is birth. At the time of birth – not only is there a struggle to be balanced in the midst of intense contractions and pain, a high probability that one will either physically or emotionally disturb or injure one’s partner and lots and lots of gore, but – there is also a baby. This bundle of joy will ensure that your youth will be over and none of your relationships will ever be the same ever again. The baby will be the cutest most chemically addicting little miracle ever. Like all addictions, this one will be a swirling pit of lost money, sleep and sanity.
It’s a good thing that infants come equipped with huge eyes, soft cheeks and miniature fingers to swoon over, because pregnancy is a magical, natural, wondrous, hellish and disgusting process which can demoralize even the staunchest advocates of children, women and the freedom of all crazy people to sign up for this abhorrent process should they be interested in doing so.