Being An Incubator
Steph just had an awesome post on women’s rights when it comes to their right to life versus a “baby’s” right to life. It made me want to share my story of being an incubator. So no, we won’t delve into anything as thought provoking in this post, but I just wonder if many people feel like I do about being pregnant.
I’m currently fourteen weeks pregnant. I also have a condition called incompetent cervix, in which treatment includes stitching up your cervix to avoid preterm labor, and often times bed rest. With my first I had a cerclage and was on bed rest from week twenty one to week thirty five, the week my daughter arrived. There is no real scientific proof bed rest works in preventing preterm labor. You do it out of desperation. I had my cerclage placed today, and guess what, I’m on bed rest right now as I type this post. Scary isn’t it?
Bed rest sucks, being an incubator sucks. At first I felt guilty for feeling this way. I thought I was supposed to glow, take parenting classes, and do prenatal yoga. I thought I was supposed to be happy my beer gut was growing by leaps and bounds every single day. I wasn’t. I was miserable. I’m already antsy right now just laying in bed, not being able to do basic things like vacuum, something I have never ever wanted to do until right this very moment, as I’m stuck in bed.
I don’t think I really like being pregnant. I like the babies it makes. I don’t like the swollen feet, uncomfortable feeling when nothing fits right, and clown clothes that pass as maternity wear. Why the hell is everything striped? I don’t like the hormonal mood swings, and I’m sure my husband doesn’t either.
I think my dislike of pregnancy comes from a few things.
I don’t have a great history with pregnancy. I was pregnant twice before I actually had a “successful” pregnancy with my third. So pregnancy is just super duper scary. It isn’t all fun and games and picking our stuff for your registry. It’s just sheer terror that something is going to go wrong at any minute.
I set myself up with false expectations of what my birth experience should be like. My last pregnancy, with the cerclage, I was told I would be a “normal” pregnant lady. I had dreams of birthing naturally with my family and friends around me in a gazebo, right after I took a nature walk with my husband while having contractions. I was going to have an orgasmic birth. It was going to be pure win. Damn you, Ina May Gaskin and your hippie midwife ways. I was so full of woo way back then about the whole process of childbirth. My reality was a hospital with a gynecologist, a perinatologist, a NICU team on standby, a nurse, and a student nurse observing a “complicated delivery”. Me on my back with my legs spread open for everyone to see. An anesthesiologist laughing as they went ahead and gave me the epidural I initially refused. That was when I really learned there is no dignity in labor and delivery, and someone you don’t know is going to see a bloody head emerge from your private parts. I’d share the pictures my husband took, but I’m going to go ahead and just leave you with that visual instead.
I can’t drink alcohol, and I miss it terribly. There is nothing really to elaborate on. I just like getting my drink on.
Now once the kid gets here, it’s great, it’s awesome, and I LOVE IT. This pregnancy thing however, not a fan. I used think that me being miserable pregnant was an indication I would suck as a mom. I still suck as a mom, but I’m not the suckiest mom, and I really like my kid. I think I’ll learn to like the parasite inside me using me as a host, once they arrive.