Pregnancy is nothing if not a roller coaster. There’s the initial drama, waiting to find out if you’ll embark on a nine-month journey of creation or just another nine-day alcohol/chocolate/caffeine binge. There’s that moment of joy when you discover you will have a baby in nine months, followed by panic as you remember your body will hold you hostage until said baby arrives (and for weeks or months afterward).
There’s the limbo between finding out that you’re pregnant and actually feeling pregnant, when anything could happen and it doesn’t seem real. Then there’s the thick of the first trimester, which turns passengers into losers, winners or sufferers. Although you can be more than one of these at any given time.
The women who lose aren’t losers, of course. They suffer a loss. There might be a bright side, there might be a “coulda been worse,” “at least we can try again,” or “I’m lucky to have my health.” But these women lose something, whether it be an expected infant, or the hopes of a totally healthy child. And the experience will leave its imprint on them forever.
Winners, on the other hand, fly through the first trimester with nary a troubling symptom. Sure, they may fall asleep at 6pm and stay there till 7 the next morning every now and then. But in general, no nausea, no headaches, no paralyzing fatigue. No whiplash from an unexpected collision. The winners regard the sufferers with a puzzled sympathy, and maybe a touch of doubt that sufferers aren’t just wimps. (“Ugh, my sister-in-law treats pregnancy like it’s an illness, she doesn’t get that it’s a
natural process!” “Right, tell that to my
barf bag, Polly.”)
During my first two pregnancies, I suffered, but during the last two, I earned my Sufferer Badge of Honor. I can’t imagine if I’d been working, especially full time. I like to think I'd have sucked it up, but I also might have checked into a hospital to escape responsibility. Even though I know some people sit at a desk all day, that still would have been harder for me than staying home with the boys. For all my complaining, when I’m home I have the option of lying on the couch all day, watching TV, reading books to the boys, napping during their videos, making sure they don’t kill themselves or each other and generally letting the house fall to pieces. I don’t think any boss would have tolerated me stretching out on the carpet in my cubicle, getting up only to eat chocolate ice cream or French fries and surf Blog Explosion.
So, where was I? Oh yeah, the ride of pregnancy. Now I’m on the second-trimester climb. At first, the twisting turns and loop-de-loops of the first trimester left me with residual nausea and fatigue, but now my excitement mounts as I look up at the mountain before me. I know that the car I'm riding in could derail at any moment, yet my hopes soar. As I reach the summit, I know I will get butterflies of anticipation in the pit of my stomach. I won't remember being
that big before. Then labor will start, kicking off the long, gut-squashing plummet back to normalcy.
Ah, the plummet. Sitting on ice packs, no sleep, postpartum depression, whacked out hormones, sweats, cracked nipples, the wrath of your chores undone and, as an added attraction, searing, shooting pains in the hip/back area. To me, this plummet doesn’t really end until the baby’s about 4 months old. At that point, my chance of sleeping four continuous hours increases as quickly as the instance of SIDS drops.
Any portion of the above-mentioned ride can and will vary at any given time, and no, you won’t receive advance warning. Please sign here to waive any and all rights to your sanity, your physical wellbeing and putting yourself first for at least the next 12 to 18 months (and up to 18 years).
By the way, today, my stomach accidentally knocked John over and, later, turned on an appliance. Only 18 more weeks of climbing uphill!
