Skip to main content

Why I'm pregnancy phobic

I hated being pregnant. Really hated it. It was exciting for about one minute when I initially looked at that emerging little pink line. Then I descended into pregnancy hell.

I wish that I could have been the kind of pregnant woman who wafts about glowing, with shiny hair, a madonna-like expression and a cute well-formed bump. I was the opposite. Four months of constant morning sickness gave me a green-hued pallor, lank hair and a permanently grumpy expression. And since the only respite from the constant nausea came from cramming packs of biscuits, toast, cake and chocolate into my ever-ready mouth, it also made me extremely fat. The only cravings I had were for hydrogenated vegetable oils, and lots of it.

As soon as the sickness left, the misery arrived. Tears streamed down my face at every opportunity. It was like never-ending PMS. Then I got Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, oedema and strained ligaments in my groin... nice.

I am possibly the only woman ever who positively looked forward to giving birth. Hideous as that was, it was nothing compared to nine months of physical torture.

The second pregancy was a repeat of the first, except that I also had firstborn's toddler tantrums to deal with.

And guess what, the Alpha Male still can't understand why I'm not keen on having a third.


Anonymous said…
My first experience with morning sickness felt just like a hangover, so I treated it much as I have successfully treated hangovers -- with a total junk food binge.

Big mistake; I felt much worse afterwards and spent the whole day in bed, instead of just the morning.

Then I tried the healthy route: fresh fruits and vegetables. I ended up with a bad case of the runs.

A friend suggested kid-friendly food: peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, mac-and-cheese from a box, etc. Believe it or not, it worked. I highly recommend this strategy to other moms-to-be, and I'd love to hear if it works or not.
Doesn't it feel like a hangover! Except that you can't resort to hair of the dog to cure it... Well, if I ever give in to Alpha Male and produce a third I'll keep the peanut butter etc tip in mind. Thank you!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …