The Craziness Has Arrived: Thoughts a Six Month Pregnant Woman Has

(Warning: this post is about the "after" part of being an infertile. I talk about being pregnant and might sound a bit ungrateful, but it's all in an attempt to be real with you, as I always try to be. Protect yourself and if you're not in a good place, please don't read right now. Wait until you're ready. XO)

For an infertile, finding out that your months and years of dreaming for a + sign on a piece of white plastic have finally come true is exhilarating. Overwhelming. Scary. For so long you focus on just the chance that a child would be a possibility, and then *poof*, one day it's there.

I always assumed that whenever I finally got pregnant (if that were to happen), that I would relish it. Roll in it. Wrap the reality around myself like a fluffy down blanket and not come up for air for at least 8.5 months. I would think of every moment as super special, journal about it, document it. I would always think to myself "this is a miracle." I wouldn't complain or whine about aches and pains. I wouldn't expect any special treatment because I was so tough and had gotten through so much to get here.

It started out that way. 

I did take (quite a few) moments every day and think about how amazing this all was. How I never thought I'd get here. I loved when people would inquire about my pregnancy...could I do this, should I be doing that? It was so comforting to know that people cared about me and my healthy pregnancy. And I felt the same way. I did everything by the book.

And then, three months in, I was over it.

At six months in, I am super over it.

Because being pregnant? Well, it's kinda sucky at times. And hard. And uncomfortable. And really freaking annoying. And yet...how can I possibly complain? What kind of an ungrateful monster would that make me?

At about month four, I started getting really irritated with expectations I put upon myself. I'd see a really great maternity dress and think to myself, "No, Kim. You went into debt to even get pregnant. You don't need a nice maternity dress. That's what your sister in law's hand me downs are for. Move along."

But dammit, there are lots of women who buy themselves nice things when they're pregnant. Why should I be any different? I worked just as hard to get here...can't I relish it a little bit? Or do I have to be all sad and depressed that it took me this long all the time?

Or, I'd see a piece of sushi in front of me and (per my doctor) know that it wasn't going to be the end of the world if I had some. But I felt guilty. Like I was testing fate. Like if anyone saw me eat that sushi, a barrage of judgmental thoughts would run through their heads. "What the hell is she doing? She was infertile for four years and now she's going to risk it on a piece of sushi?"

And the most annoying thing? Sometimes I really do want special treatment. Sometimes the pain and discomfort of getting kicked by this kid over and over is too much. The nausea that makes me want to get up and leave in the middle of dinner is dangerously close to sending me into Nutsville. I feel like I'm a terrible person if I really share how fed up I am with all of it. Because this is what I asked for. This is what I pleaded for.

What kind of a person begs for a delicious steak and then bitches that they have to actually make the effort to eat it?

As an infertile, I feel like I'm damned either way. If I whine too much about how holy-hell difficult this is, I'm an ungrateful sour puss. If I don't share with people how hard it's actually been, then I can't really expect them to offer help, now can I?

And you know what? I have to believe infertiles aren't the only ones who deal with this. I think being pregnant, no matter how long it took, is just a contradiction in terms. There are moments when it takes all of your energy not to turn the car around and go home because you just can't take today. But then there are days when you see a butterfly perched on your side view mirror and you want to burst into tears because it's the most beautiful thing in the history of ever.

There's a reason people say pregnant ladies are crazy.

Because we are, yo. We are absolutely, 100% batshit crazy. And there's nothing we can do about it.

So basically, this blog entry has no point, other than to share with you that I'm sort of losing my mind from day to day. And if you're newly pregnant...you're next.

XOXO, loves.