But over the past few week’s, there have been a number of posts, articles, updates and tweets about pregnancy. More specifically focusing on how unpleasant being pregnant can be.
I’d love to say I know. I’d love to tell you I know how it feels. I’d love to share my own pregnancy related horror stories of tiredness, back pain, needing to pee, all day nausea, hemorrhoids and varicose veins. But I have no story to share. None you all want to hear anyway. None that anyone wants to be able to relate to.
But my truth is I can’t. I don’t know. I don’t know the unpleasantness that is pregnancy.I don’t know the joy of pregnancy either. Only one of my pregnancies was joyful and it was very short lived.
Yes, you read that right, one of my pregnancies. You see, I am the Blessed Barrenness, barren but abundantly blessed. My womb is as desolate as any desert. My body is a baby killer, if you will. I can get pregnant, I just can’t stay pregnant. Seven miscarriages guys, SEVEN.
Only my first pregnancy was joyful. Because in my innocence, I never dreamed the nightmare of a road that lay ahead of me. And even that was short lived. I only got to experience the joy of pregnancy for a few short days when at 8 weeks I woke up in a pool of my own blood and new the worst imaginable had happened.
What followed was a 7 year nightmare. Pregnancies and miscarriages. Chemical pregnancies – where you’re only a little bit pregnant (did you even know that was possible?) and holding your breath waiting for the inevitable. Surgeries. Doctors. Procedures. Blood tests. Pain. Frustration. Grief. More blood tests, more surgeries. Injections. Injection. Injections. No dignity. I’ve injected myself countless times. In my stomach, in my legs, in my butt. I’ve walked around bruised and battered but determined to keep trying. An empty bank account. And utter hopelessness. Grief. Grief. Grief.
I wish I could share in your stories of how dreadful pregnancy could be. I wish I could. I would love to know. I would take on every ache, pain, discomfort to know what you know. Every last bit of it. But I can’t. And there came a time, when wishing, hoping, praying and trying had to stop. And so I switched gears and found an alternative path to parenthood.
And I am blessed. Abundantly so. I am blessed beyond the realms of my own imaginings. But that doesn’t ever mean that I don’t yearn for your experience. I don’t, in my weaker moments, wish that things could have been different. Or at least the path to my beautiful children could have been conventional. I wouldn’t change my outcome for anything, but I wish I knew what you knew. I wish I could join in your stories of how dreadful pregnancy can be.
But I can’t.
And even in your worst pregnancy moments, I hope you know that there are thousands of women, just like me, who read your laments about how awful pregnancy can be and wish to know what you know. Who would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Who yearn to experience what you’re experiencing.
I will never know what those first baby movements feel like. My husband will never lie with his head pressed to my swollen belly. We will never see images of our child on a scan. I will never know what I’d look like pregnant. None of it. And there are times, when there feels like there’s a gaping hole where those memories should be. Where I look back on the days our children were placed with us, and I try to look to what came before that, and there’s just a big expanse of blackness, of nothingness. And I wish I had that little bit of history, I wish I had the pregnancy stories to tell them about when they were in my tummy. I wish…
Be blessed. This pregnancy journey will soon be over and be just a memory, a memory to be treasured because the alternative…. well the alternative is so much worse than what the current discomfort could be.