Recently, one of my coworkers had her first baby. Her nine month journey was filled with glowing skin, shiny hair, cute belly and no sign of cankles. In other words… her pregnancy journey was what every expectant mother hopes for – joyful!
I wouldn’t wish it to be any other way for any pregnancy, but it did get me thinking about my nine month journey or what I like to call “My Invasion of the Body Snatchers” journey.
No one ever seems to have the guts to talk about how rough pregnancy can be. So for those out there that can relate, my story is for you. My story is for those that find comfort in hearing other women’s stories of pregnancy that did not go so well and knowing that it’s okay that you hated every minute of being pregnant. Hate may be a bit of a strong word, but that’s what comes to mind at the moment.
Growing up, I was never one of those girls that dreamt about their wedding or how many children I’d have and as the years ticked by, I resigned myself to the fact that I would never have children and quite possibly never find “the one.” A little dramatic I know, considering that I did in fact meet my now husband at the age of 33, but back in 2007, it was just starting to become more mainstream that couples were getting married in their thirties versus in their twenties like my parent’s generation. So even though I felt like an old maid, and my parents thought I was a lost cause (I say that with the utmost love Mom and Dad), 33 was in fact a good age for me to start this new chapter.
Even though I had FINALLY met the man of my dreams and got married two years later, the thought of children still didn’t register. Until Walt uttered those three little words… “Let’s start trying!”
Walt was ready I was not. Of course you’re never really ready but Walt was mentally there, his biological alarm clock was going off and mine was on snooze. I was so not there, that I scared Walt into thinking that I never wanted children, which was never the case, I just couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the concept that I had someone in my life that wanted to have a family with me.
I finally got there (although I’m pretty sure I was scared sh#@less.)
By this time, I was 37 and Walt in his forties (barely.) Walt is a researcher. And sometimes he researches to the point of paralyzing himself into not being able to make a decision. However, this is not one of those times. Apparently his research led him to purchasing ovulation strips. Yep. He was on a mission and I was his target.
Being that we were both trying for the first time later in life, especially me since I was considered to be at the start of high a risk pregnancy, we agreed to try the old fashioned way for six months and then seek help if we were not successful on our own.
Well… needless to say we were successful. First try successful. I know a blessing. So that’s why the ovulation strips never worked! I was already pregnant when I started peeing on the stick!
Side note…Anyone need some ovulation strips? Got a whole slew of them. Hate to see them go to waste. Just sayin’.
The last weekend in September of 2011 I was in San Antonio for a conference for work. I swear I didn’t know I was pregnant when I drank that beer! The following Friday we had our annual put conference stuff away and clean the office work day. I had some horrible fights with nausea. Got me thinking. Hmm… what’s going on here?
That night I peed on another stick and it came back positive. The following Monday, my doctor confirmed – I was 6 weeks pregnant and so began my pregnancy journey. A journey that was unfortunately one of the most uncomfortable and miserable nine months of my life.
To be continued….