I am not one to suffer in silence. I am not one of these timid women who's always all, "No, no, I'm fine."
And I'm certainly not one of these mothers who thinks that suffering makes me a better mother.
It's not an equation, people. It's not:
Suffering = Good mother
I believe the opposite. Happy women make good mothers. That just makes sense. I figure, the less I have to suffer, the more functional my family will be.
As a quasi-Buddhist I am aware that suffering exists. We all suffer at various times in our lives, to greater or lesser degrees. And for me, pregnancy is one of the deepest forms of suffering I've ever experienced. And now I'm experiencing it a second time! On purpose! Someone please have me committed, because clearly I do not make healthy decisions when it comes to my own well-being.
Pregnancy sucks. It just does. I have few mom friends who will argue otherwise. My one friend who didn't suffer much during pregnancy gave birth to a shrieking banshee who never stopped screaming for her first year and a half. Oh sure, she's adorable and sweet now, but it wasn't always so. I figure that was just the Pregnancy Goddess's way of evening things out. Sure, I'll give you a smooth ride for nine months. But the eighteen after that will SUCK! BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Here are some stretch marks.
Actually, I don't know if my friend got stretch marks or not.
Morning sickness is a misnomer, because it doesn't only occur in the morning. For the past three weeks I've thrown up:
Upon getting out of bed
After taking my son, the Juban Princeling, to the indoor playspace at the YMCA
After doctor's appointments
While doing dishes
Sitting on the couch watching TV
Before going out to dinner
While waiting for our friends to come over for the evening after our kids go to bed
After talking on the phone
And this is all while on medication! Not the baby-deforming medication an officer from the Pregnancy Police thinks I'm taking because she is confused and can't be bothered to do her research, but the same medication I took while pregnant with the Princeling three years ago, the one that's prescribed all the time for pregnant women with bad morning sickness and is perfectly safe and wonderful. And back then it worked! This time...less so. I can eat, at least. It's just that whatever I eat usually comes back to haunt me, ifyougetmydriftIthinkyoudo.
By the way, YES I HAVE TRIED EVERY SINGLE NATURAL REMEDY. If I have to drink ginger ale one more time, or eat another saltine, I will cut a bitch. So don't even mention those to me, or seasick wrist bands, or Vitamin B, or tea, or lemons, or sour candies, unless you want me to throw up on you.
My mother never had morning sickness, something I fully resent her for. Aren't daughters supposed to have pregnancies like their mothers?
When I was 3 1/2 and my mother was 8 months pregnant with my brother Mr. Funny, we were in the process of moving and Miami was under a hurricane warning. So my mother, in her condition and with a 3 1/2-year old to take care of by herself because my dad had to work, had to prepare not one, but two houses for Hurricane David. If I were her I would never ever let my children forget that, but she barely mentions it. I think it's safe to say that my mother is a far tougher woman than I, at least when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth.
Being sick to my stomach all the time during my last pregnancy was bad because I was working a full-time job I didn't much care for and the stress of it made me barf at the office. Thankfully my cubicle was near the ladies' room. I liked most of my co-workers, and most days were fine, but there were a few people who got under my skin. One time the mere sight of someone walking by my desk made me retch.
Because I was so sick during that time I was told by my doctor to eat whatever I could hold down, which for me meant a lot of junk food. When I gave birth I was surprised my placenta wasn't entirely Nutella. Just a big clump of Nutella with a Nutella umbilical cord connecting it to my baby, who somehow managed to be born covered in amniotic fluid and not Nutella.
But, at my job, we had low cubicle walls, and nosy people who felt perfectly all right in walking by my desk and making comments, out loud, about what I was consuming. Thank you, Pregnancy Police! I hope you all have hemorrhoids and crippling constipation now.
This time around my job is to take care of the Juban Princeling, which is both better and worse. Better, because at least he doesn't snark, "Wow, I hope your baby appreciates that root beer you're drinking right now WHEN HE GROWS UP TO BE A SERIAL KILLER," and because he's generally very sweet when I throw up. Once he even brought me his carsick bucket. Isn't that the cutest? But it's also worse because if I say, "Mommy doesn't feel well," he interprets that as, "I want to argue with you over what you are going to eat for lunch, and if I have to touch another dinosaur chicken nugget I will barf all over you." He also gives me no privacy, so if I want to lie down on my bed in misery there's a very good chance a pair of little feet and hands are going to follow me and kick me and tickle me until I give up.
So, upside, fewer officers of the Pregnancy Police hounding me, plus I'm surrounded by sympathetic friends who are most eager to swap pregnancy horror stories with me (which, strangely, makes me feel better). Downside, I always have a tiny shadow following me into the bathroom when I hurl and commenting on it: "Mommy throw up. You done, Mommy? I close toilet now. Get up, Mommy. You all better now."
Actually, that's one of the upsides.