The weekend arrived, gloriously presenting itself with the same wailing from Master X in the adjacent bedroom (what is Mr. A doing in there?!?! Why isn’t he keeping the baby quiet?). As I roll over I am acutely aware of the pressure in my boobs, that lauded sense of pulsing hormones that only comes with the first trimester of pregnancy. Glorious.
I wonder how long I can lay here, pretending not to hear the high-pitched call of our child before it becomes obvious that I am avoiding the inescapable duties of a mother. Although I could argue that by resting I am fulfilling my role to grow this human that is currently leeching off my system. Yup. Cause that is just how it feels. I mean, being pregnant is cool in its own way, and I really do enjoy the sensation of kicking and squirming. Lucky for me being six feet I do not have the issue of elbows and feet in my ribs, but I am not lucky enough to escape heart burn in the final trimester.
I do not enjoy the all day sickness, the constant exhaustion, heightened sense of smell, sore boobs, bloating, swollen feet… and I am sure that there are more that I have forgotten in the last two years since I was growing Master X but that will slam me in the face in the coming months. Why don’t we talk about these things? Ok, I had heard about them and was warned of the possibility of some these not-so-welcomed side-effects, but I didn’t really hear anyone express honestly how shit being pregnant is. And I also am yet to hear from anyone about the total rubbish mental state associated with the second pregnancy because not only do we have to relive the physical anguish but we also know what is coming in those first twelve months.
Yes, not forty days or three months of intense sleeplessness that everyone talks about, but the dragging difficult, marathon just plain fucking hard year following the birth. I think the hardest thing is knowing the endless nights and days without sleep, those moments that Mr. A and I were driving around Canberra and would look at each other and say ‘I can’t believe that it is legal to drive without this much sleep’. And then laugh. Hysterically. High from adrenaline, but mainly scared that if we did not shed our emotions from our mouths that we lose control and tumble into the dark abyss of the truth. That those first twelve months are hell.
Knowing the upcoming demise of our ability to cope, to manage, to operate as reasonable human beings is already putting stress on our family. It is hard to ignore how difficult our mental preparation is going to be in regards to after the birth of our second cherub. I mean, how do you get ready for the unknown when you had such a traumatic experience the first time?