My pregnancy was a test of trust and patience. Those are kinder nouns than hysterical fear and crippling anxiety. I learned very early on how much I did not know.
We, as people, used to live in closer community with each other. Girls would grow up seeing birth, teenage girls would assist with the delivery and care for those younger, women would raise the children together. I was the first of my close girlfriends to become pregnant and my family lives hundreds of miles away. I turned to books and the internet for guidance. And if you glean one thing from this, it should be to not do that.
When it comes to how you will grow and birth your child into the world, there are a lot of viewpoints and options. Every person seemed eager to give passing advice or commentary. (I'm talking about you, old man in the Meijer Pharmacy line that asked if I'm having twins.) But, in the end, it was up to me and my partner how we would do this. Which I hated. I just wanted someone to tell me what to do.
On my 30th birthday, I was 8 weeks along. We had not told anyone yet and somehow convinced our friends I wanted to go to a Chinese buffet for my birthday dinner. After eating more than a socially acceptable amount of lo mein and fried rice, I was hit with morning sickness and shared some very special moments with that pink tiled bathroom. From that moment on, I decided to chronicle my pregnancy symptoms and happenings. There is A LOT that happened in my pregnancy, birth, and postpartum time that made me scream "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE TELL YOU THIS?!" Maybe because it can be scary or too personal or your silly brain makes you forget. But I didn't want to forget. There is so much power in sharing your experiences and having the person sitting next to you or across the world say "hey, me too".
At my 20 week ultrasound, the technician put the image of the baby's sex in an envelope as we did not want to know it then. We made it less than 24 hours before opening the envelope together on the couch. My pregnancy felt so out of control that I need to know one thing. I would be the mother of a girl. And that little girl was doing a number on my body.
My morning sickness hit in the evenings around dinner time. I survived on plain bagels with butter. I carried Josie high which made me pop tums like skittles and expanded my rib cage two inches. My SI joint became loose which led me to see a physical therapist once a week. The placenta attached to the front (rather than the back) so I could not feel my baby move until the third trimester. I developed gestational asthma, severely itchy hands and feet at night, and the back acne of a steroidal teenage boy. I had placenta previa right up until my 37-week appointment. Pregnancy left me with deep purple stretch marks, my feet a size larger, and a few bins of clothes that may never fit again. But the physical ailments paled in comparison to the mental exhaustion I felt.
I signed up for an online birth course run by an incredible woman who is knowledgeable and experience in natural home birthing. I found a lot of encouragement and information in her teachings. However, I decided that a home birth was not for me. I say that simply but the decision was not simple. As someone who researches relentlessly in stress and also wants literally all 8 billion people in this world to be pleased by my decisions, stepping away from this option and the community that came with it was monumental for me. I would eventually find a group of moms to confide and invest in, but this was not it and that decision was rough.
My birth plan was to get that baby out of my body and that was about it. I would give birth in a hospital. I would be open to medication if or when I needed it. I would try to breastfeed. I would take that baby home with me. And I would do my very best to make her healthy and strong. And I knew I could no do that in a vacuum.
We are meant to live in community. We are supposed to ask for help when we need it and offer help when we can give it. I cried to God about my fears and He sent so many people to calm and comfort me. My girlfriends gave me a Mother Blessing where they washed my feet, did my nails, prayed over me, and took photos of Josh and me and my enormous belly. Our families and church threw us a baby shower where people we barely knew wrote words of encouragement and recommended their favorite children's books. Josh's friends stocked a closet with diapers. Hand me downs and meals were left on our back porch. I had the best partner who made me laugh, massaged my swollen feet, got me any food I wanted, and held me when I cried.
I felt so lonely but I was not alone. We had a community, even if it looked and functioned differently than I had expected. And after 41 weeks of growing a human being out of pizza and slurpees, we walked into the hospital and told them I was there to have a baby. I was as prepared as I could have been. And (spoiler alert) nowhere near prepared enough.