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.