The Unexpected Side of Pregnancy

In January, when we found out I was pregnant, I was elated. Some of you know it took us longer than expected to get pregnant, and a few of you know how difficult that was for me - the "perfect one" who gets what she wants by doing everything right the first time, and by planning and being organized. Perhaps that was my first taste of something I'm learning as I'm on this journey: I only have so much control over what happens in the process of growing a child. For those of you who know me well, you know that control is a big thing. Keeping it together is a big deal. Perfection is preferred, at least when it comes to myself.

Therefore, I was going to have the perfect pregnancy: I bought all the books and downloaded the apps
I was going to eat all the right things. I was going to continue running, my passion, until the day I went into labor. I was going to enroll in prenatal yoga, gain the perfect amount of weight, and feel beautiful. I would glow. I was going to participate in all the things we usually do with our friends. And when baby came, I was going to be ready for the changes she brought: lack of sleep, no makeup, change of focus. I had 9 months to mentally prepare for what a baby meant.

The first trimester can be summed up in one word: Sleep. I was exhausted! Forget running, I could hardly make it through the whole school day before locking up, going home, and napping for 2 hours, then falling asleep on the couch between 8:30 and 9pm. As if it mattered. The next day, I would be nearly late for work because I couldn't drag myself out of bed until the absolute last second. Running was out. Prenatal yoga? Funny joke. I ate anything and everything that had sugar, because I couldn't stay awake, and coffee gave me headaches.

Then, the blessed second trimester. Energy! Focus! I was back! And my little bump was so cute I could hardly stand it. I finally looked pregnant, and spent hours choosing outfits and taking photos. I wore my beautiful new maternity clothes that my mother had bought for me, or that my family had let me borrow. I was so excited. And my hair! My usually limp, thin hair had become stronger, more lustrous, and a bit thicker. I loved this change.


But there were other changes I didn't love - I couldn't take anything useful for my allergies, I got winded really easily, I had back pain, lack of sleep, and worry. All these things were normal, and I read about them in my books and apps, and I tried to accept them. I tried to push through. My doctor told me I was gaining "a bit more weight than she'd like to see." What I heard was: "You failed." I had lost the control I thought I was maintaining. The little joys I had been using to get me through started to seem littler and less significant. They couldn't sustain me anymore.

I withdrew. Pregnancy became more of a burden than a joy. As the second trimester wears on, I have started noticing more discomfort than excitement. I feel left out. I'm lonely. I can't sleep. I can't run. I'm clumsy. I threw out my back packing a box of picture frames at our house. Picture frames! I have felt listless, bored, sorry for myself, anxious, and sad. I miss my waist and my old clothes. I have sat at home by myself and cried. And I feel SO guilty for it. This is supposed to be a joyful time. I'm supposed to feel special, beautiful, and excited. And all things considered, I think I've had a pretty easy pregnancy by comparison. But reminding myself of these things doesn't make me feel better.

As I approach my third trimester, I have started to feel an impending sense of loss. Running. My friends understanding me. My confidence. Doing things on my own. Sleeping. Things I depend upon in my regular life as coping mechanisms.

I'm supposed to have 9 months to prepare for the changes a baby will bring. Instead, each week of this pregnancy has brought something different. Something I can't control. I pride myself on being a strong person. Independent. Patient. And now I'm irritable, vulnerable, sometimes helpless, and scared. I feel lonely, anxious, and guilty. I'm tired of being pregnant - if these changes are already here, I might as well have the baby to go with them. At least then I would have something to focus on.

These are the things no one tells you about. These are the feelings I never expected. The ones I don't want to admit to. But I want to be honest and open, because I refuse to believe I'm the only pregnant woman to feel this way, or who might feel this way. And it might help someone else to read this. I also believe that with openness can come some healing. Keeping something like this to myself doesn't help me, but I often do it to protect my "perfect" self. I can usually get past things in a few days. No one knows. I keep it together.

A few days ago, I talked to my husband about some of these feelings. He listened. He held my hand. He said small, reassuring things. Like he did the day we got married and it rained all morning. Like he did after we had tried for a year and I was devastated that there was still no baby. Like he always does. And I felt a little better.

Yesterday, I talked to my mom. I tried not to let on too much, just "casually" mentioned how I've had low days, and think I might be at risk for post-partum depression, given my own history of depression and anxiety. She listened. She shared a few things with me that other young women in our lives have told her over the years, and we moved on to other things. It was a short conversation, compared with some I've had with her. But last night, I slept. I slept long and hard.

These are things I also didn't expect. I didn't expect that my lack of physical independence would lead me to access those I love for emotional dependence. I didn't expect depending upon others to help me. I didn't expect to learn so much about myself as I prepared to care for someone else.


Being reassured by my husband gave me enough energy to drag myself out walking that day. While it's not my favorite (running, remember?), it provides both the exercise my doctor recommends and gets me outside, where I love to be. And I was able to draw upon some positive thoughts. I will get through this. There is an end. And someday I will even miss this part of my life. Creating life really is a miracle. I can't possibly control everything, because miracles aren't for people, they are for God. I have to learn that lesson. Apparently I have to be hit over the head with that lesson several times.

So do I feel "all better now," since I've gotten this out on a blog? No, not completely. But I also don't feel so bad. With some encouragement, I have found ways to channel my energy that don't include surfing Facebook to witness everyone's vacations and camping trips and sushi, and wine tastings and races. So that when I do see those things, I can actually be happy for my friends who get to do them. I am knitting my daughter a blanket to bring her home from the hospital. I have revisited my Garmin calendar and goals, and determined that I may still meet my mileage goal this year even if it's by walking. I bought a swimsuit that looks really, really cute on my belly.

I got lost in the little things. I may not be out of the woods yet. But it's the little things that are helping me find myself again. Some changes have happened. Many are yet to come. I will have great days and terrible days. And I can't control all of that. One thing I can control are the actions I take to help myself. So I will continue to try to ask my family and friends to help me. To be there for me. To listen. To withhold judgment. And I will do the same for you when you need it, because I know what it's like to need that.

 Me and Jack on the beach in Florence. Photo credit to the husband, whose idea it was to make the trip. One of the best days of my pregnancy, filled with great memories.

Honesty: An Introduction

Blogging has only recently become an interest of mine. Writing my own, that is. I have been reading blogs done by my friends and people I admire for about a year. And those blogs range from education-related things to family updates, to personal, emotional stories. Add into that equation my love of Facebook and social media, but my tendency to be long-winded. I wanted a way to get my thoughts out honestly, and to share that honesty with others. So I got an idea in my head: "What if I were to start a blog?"

A few days ago, I asked my friends why they blog, what they write, and who is their intended audience. I was hoping for inspiration, focus, guidance. And I secretly hoped that a few of the bloggers/friends I follow would chime in, since they were my inspiration (they did!). I got so many responses with so much variation, from: "I blog because it allows me to vent," to: "I blog because I want to start a conversation," and: "I blog so people can keep up with my growing family." Great answers, and helpful, but so much for focus...

I had to think for a couple of days, because when I do something I want it to have focus, purpose. But with so many reasons to blog, what would my focus be? What will set my blog apart from others? What will elevate me to blogging greatness?! And so began the thinking. I thought about my potential blog posts while walking my dog (Really?! Barking at cars?! I could vent about this for days!) I thought about it while reading a recent article in the local newspaper regarding my school district (Mind racing, what if someone from the district sees my rant? Could I get in trouble? But I do love my school. I don't want to sound bitter. But, but, but...). I pondered blogging about the hairstyles people ask me about as I was braiding my hair (I could do tutorials! Women everywhere would Pin my photos on Pinterest!). I even thought about blogging in the wee hours of the night, when my growing baby began her nightly ritual of practicing somersaults in my belly the moment I settled in to try to sleep (This is so miraculous...and annoying! Surely other moms can relate). Again, so much for focus...

But then I thought about the purpose of a blog, as I understand it: There really is no specific purpose. Hence, the diversity of blogs out there in the universe, and the diversity of purposes they serve for their authors. If people want to write about their kids, they can. If they want to document their hobbies, travels, or times of trial, that's OK too. Even if someone wants to blog about the intricacies of social behavior in, say, water buffaloes... sure, they can do that. The audience is narrowed significantly, but its possible.

And the other aspect of blogging is audience. Some of the people who answered my blogging question on Facebook pointed out this side: Sure, blogging might be fun, but who would really read it? What makes me so special that people want to read what's going on in my head? If they want to know, they could just ask, right? Right. They could. And some do. But sometimes I have things to share that a simple, "How have you been?" just won't cover.

So when I think about what I have to share, and with whom I have to share it, I have decided to focus upon a guiding principle: Honesty. This does not mean I will spew out whatever comes to mind without filtering, and I will not be spilling my deepest, darkest, secrets to the Internet (nor those of my loved ones). The titles of my posts will give a hint as to their contents, and I will share said posts where I feel they will be read. If you want to read, read on.

There will be posts about pregnancy, and, after our little girl is born, there will be posts about new-mommy-hood, and babies, and photos. There will be posts about my social views. There will be uplifting posts and there will be honest, raw posts that may be difficult to read. There will be posts about spirituality, friendship, marriage, celebrations, disappointments, and frustrations. Sometimes I will post daily. And sometimes there will be LONG gaps between posts. Because that's life. And that's my first bit of honesty. Welcome. :)