The Truth Behind The Bump
I was in my bed, crying out of frustration. It was almost 9 p.m. and my husband wasn't home yet and I hadn't had dinner yet and I had not thrown out the trash yet. I wanted to but I couldn't. Pregnancy. There's just something about the first trimester that makes you helpless and weak and - dare I say it? - useless.
It was a bleak time, a bad time, an unforgiving time... for me.
I didn't want any of it. I didn't want go through it anymore, the underbelly of the bump.
My days became nights. Most mornings were lost since I would wake up close to noon. My husband would kiss me goodbye as he would leave for work and I would only faintly remember that. I stood up to eat and then went back to lying down again. Loneliness loomed. I had no more time to spend as sleep became my ally. Closing my eyes seemed like the best solution to the endless nausea and fatigue and loss of appetite. Perhaps it would all go away? When it always seemed like night, they did.
My hopes became dull. I would wake up to a new day and I would sing songs of hope. Today, I will write. I will go to the grocery. I will see a friend. I will look at cute, baby stuff. I will take a dip in the pool. I will exercise. I will get a manicure. I will look like a fresh, vibrant pregnant woman. Half an hour later, as the first wave of nausea hit, I would throw all those goals to the wall and watch it create an ugly mess of disillusionment. What was I even thinking? Maybe tomorrow became my faint battle cry.
My hands became limp. The housewife that I trained myself to become was gone. It was my husband who did the groceries and the cleaning and the chores. It was my in-laws and mom who cooked our food. Our home never smelled like chocolate cookies and baked pasta and fresh flowers anymore. I felt disdain because I could not do what I used to. I mourned the loss of that version of myself. I could not serve my husband, I could not make our house a home - vows I made on our wedding day. What did that make me?
Desperate times call for desperate measures:
I Google-d, 'How to deal with pregnancy emotions'.
I texted my OB, 'Doc, is it really like this?'.
I cried to my husband and said, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'
Seeing the pain in my eyes, he said, 'Buddy, don't be. You're creating life.'
In the midst of all the woes and crosses and pains and glooms of pregnancy, I forgot the singular, most important thing:
I became a vessel. I am a vessel. I am creating life. I am carrying life. I am nurturing life. I am becoming small so that something small could be great. I am making space for a miracle. I am surrendering my whole self for someone new. I am awakening another woman in me, a mother.
The ginger and lemon tea didn't help nor did the sleep, the smaller but frequent meals, the kegel exercises, the pregnancy apps, etc., etc. The underbelly of the bump is heavy to carry - heavier than anything else I ever had to carry before - but you know what makes it lighter?
The beauty of the truth behind the bump:
That there are now two hearts in me, that I breathe two breaths, that I carry two souls, mine and my child's.
The nausea goes away but the babe and the father? They're there forever.
I wrote this entry in response to my experience during the first trimester. May all those who are going through the same thing know that although it doesn't feel like it, you're doing the greatest, most miraculous job in the world.