Everybody’s jumping up and down. Because it’s good news and people dig good news. Like me. Over the moon. Names, baby baskets, knitted bloomers. All set. Until week 6. When hormones kicked in. If you read our blog, you must have noticed.
Damn did I forget how bad a woman can feel. Totally indoctrinated by hCG. All day nausea. Throwing up everything everywhere. Sleeping also everywhere. Lying in bed alone crying. 24/7 thoughts of food. Hunger that can’t be satisfied, because if so, you’re throwing up immediately. Funky smells popping out of thin air. Screaming when there’s nothing to scream about. O my fucking **** do I hate this phase. No pink bubble for me here.
I knew all of this. But I forgot.
What I didn’t know was being pregnant while having a lively little girl around. I didn’t know that I couldn’t handle her sassiness and all day energy. That her incredible language skills and cozy babbling would drive me crazy. That her cuddliness would be too much after a day at work. That her sweet always perfect smell no matter what would make me more nauseous than anything else.
I didn’t know.
And it made me sad. Like massive uncontrollable sad. It felt like my body was rejecting her and I just couldn’t handle that feeling. I didn’t want her to notice. But she did. I tried to be the same mother I always was. But I failed. And I was, maybe still am, afraid it will never be the same again.
People say it’s ok. That this is life. And I know. Of course I know. But feeling this way breaks my heart. I guess it’s a phase of change and maybe I’m not really comfortable with change. I need time. Time to get back in balance. And I’m getting there. Slowly.
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m extremely happy with the fact that we did it. That we’re very lucky to have made a new human being. We want this baby dearly. But somehow it feels wrong to neglect the last couple of weeks of struggling with all these extreme emotions. They were tough. That must be life too. Life with hormones.
Ps 1. J, if you ever read this: I love you as much as all the stars together. Always.
Ps 2. Baby, if you ever read this: I love you as much as all the stars together. Always.