When my wife became pregnant with Pidge, I was a little jealous. I felt sidelined as I watched her body change in the most amazing way, heard about the movement and kicks I couldn’t feel, and the ever-present nature of her relationship with Pidge in the womb. She experienced what I saw as beauty.
This time, I’m the one who is pregnant, and the reality of what pregnancy does to your body has been a literal kick in the gut. Holy hell, it’s a lot. It’s pain and shortness of breath and sleeplessness and aching and fear and heartburn and nausea and itchiness and swelling and emotions a whole host of things.
I quickly learned that I had romanticized my wife’s experience; I had seen it through my envy, not for what it was. And yet, the beauty IS what it is. Despite the pain and sickness and overwhelm. Despite the exhaustion.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the back aches and rib aches and everything else. But then you feel a little squirm, a roll, a flutter. You feel your baby’s hiccups. Hello in there. I don’t even know you, but I love you.
Like many other experiences, we tend to characterize pregnancy as one thing or the other. It is wonderful, or it is horrible. It’s a miracle, or it’s a body-wrecker. But the reality is that it’s not either/or. It’s both/and.
When people ask me how pregnancy is going, I never know what to say. I want to be positive, because there is so much to be positive about, but I also want to acknowledge the extreme nature of pregnancy to give credit to all the individuals who choose to take this on. I feel the pressure to be a “good mom” and glow about the wonders of pregnancy. And I do. And I don’t. And I’m still a good mom.
I don’t really know why I’m saying all of this except to say to all the people who have experienced pregnancy, I see you. I want to hold space for you – for the dual nature of this wacky ride.
How is my pregnancy? It is amazing and it is too much. I am so happy and I am completely depleted. It is raw and it is beautiful and it is uncomfortable and it is real.
It is mine.
