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.

Comments

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.
Kate B. said…
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

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...