Pregnancy is nothing like commercials suggest, with moms caressing their perfectly rounded-bellies with a look of content and utter joy. No hemorrhoids or stretch marks, or persistent nausea.
Maybe that’s why it took me until my second pregnancy to admit that baking a baby for nine months is anything but bliss.
Being pregnant sucks!
It’s the memories of my two past pregnancies that are holding me back from having a third (much wanted) baby.
Every time I begin to contemplate to start trying to have another baby these little reminders of pregnancies past begin to surface. At the strangest times. Like when I was standing in line at Starbucks and I had a flashback to my first pregnancy when the smell of coffee made me gag. All. The. Time.
Or the time I was psyching myself up to buy an ovulation kit and a memory of sitting in the passenger seat near tears while my mom tugged the Uggs off my feet because I swore I was going to pass out from an intense hot flash.
Being pregnant for me meant months of being uncomfortable. I couldn’t sleep. I was prone to terrible Charlie horses. I was constantly nauseous.
Working was difficult since my girls’ tucked under my rib cage which caused pain to radiate up and down my back. I think I spent more time at my chiropractor’s office than the ob-gyn.
There was no glow; just hot flashes. There weren’t any feelings of freedom of eating whatever I wanted because of constant heartburn and acid reflux. And those cute maternity outfits? Not so cute when you sweat right through the thin fabric or pee in your adorable maternity jeans.
It felt like another life; like I was another person. Someone who could never get comfortable, who was constantly irritable and who was constantly on the verge of getting sick. My terrible morning sickness lasted throughout the majority of my pregnancy and when it finally left, heartburn and acid reflux moved in. My ankles and feet swelled making it hard to walk more than a couple times around the block. Even sitting down on the couch was difficult.
I hated being pregnant.
So when I even start to consider trying for another baby, it’s not the memories of the painful contractions, the fear of the epidural or the weeks of wearing huge maxi pads while recovering from childbirth that gives me pause. It’s pregnancy itself that has me reconsidering bringing another baby into this world.
Yes, maybe it’s all worth it in the end. But it’s a long road to that finish line, especially when it’s a miserable journey.
I can’t sign myself for that experience all over again.
At least not anytime soon.
Author: Ambrosia Brody
Ambrosia Brody is a full-time editor, journalist and mother to two spirited daughters. She lives in Southern California in a beach city but hates the sand; enjoys people watching but hates small talk. She started to blog at Random Aspects of (My) Life when she realized everything she knew about parenting was wrong. Go visit her at Random Aspects of (My) Life