I was going to name this post ‘all I want for Christmas’ but it’s quite a lot to ask for considering I keep reading about the anguish of those who don’t have positive IVF experiences (I feel terribly guilty) and my birthday is in 9 days so the sooner the better.
I want to bloom.
Instead of being full of the joys of going to be a mummy I am either sick, tired, depressed, sad or angry… Or all of the above. At least the constipation and farting has stopped, well, mostly.
I feel fat and already think I’m waddling. I feel unattractive in every way possible; I can’t be arsed to put full makeup on in the morning, my clothes don’t sit right, my hair is a mess (I’m a trip to the supermarket away from fucking off my natural choice to not dye my hair until I’ve stopped breastfeeding) and I miss my painted false nails (another bullshit mother earth decision).
But wait, I’m greedy. I want more…
To not have to go to work until 6.30pm every day and be stressed. To not unexpectedly and violently sneeze in pairs at least once a day. To not itch. To have a night’s sleep without vivid dreams. To not be obsessed about looking up what these dreams mean on my stupid app whilst I wait for toast and consider puking each morning. To not know what to eat, then suddenly only want one thing that I have to have. To not have progesterone pessary gik in my knickers all the time. To be able to get really pissed, stoned, both or more to take the pain away. Just for one night. To feel like me. To not be scared I’ll never feel like me again. To get hugs that last forever from all the people I can’t have one from.
There was some happiness this week when I had my 12 week scan, knowing all is ok still, but it was also really stressful. Now I’m waiting for the dreaded, albeit unlikely, high risk of downs syndrome call before next Wednesday. I can’t even talk about this. However, pregnancy and how I imagined our life would be like up until today – 12 weeks and 4 days – has been pretty rubbish and unrealistic. Day in, day out, life has been the same but with added shit sprinkles on the top. No kisses on the belly, no concern for my spleen being left in the kitchen sink at 7.30am and no exciting planning trips to Mothercare.
I’m sorry to all you desperate wannabe mothers who must think I’m ungrateful for getting what I wanted and now bitching about it. I understand, I was one of you. It’s just not the movies. I was stupid for ever thinking it could be.
So for now, I’ll just wish to bloom in the next 9 days. I guess I might have to put some of the rest of it on my Christmas list… This year and next.