I Hated Being Pregnant

I don’t think I’m supposed to admit that.

File this one in the “Things I’m Not Supposed To Say” category, but I hated being pregnant.

Yeah, I said it. I hated it. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word…nope, nope you know what? I’m sticking with it. I hated it.

Sure, I loved it in the sense that I was grateful to be experiencing it, especially since I never thought I would get to again. And I had a great deal of appreciation and admiration for the incredible thing my body was doing. I loved aspects of being pregnant. Feeling the babies move is amazing, and I was quite fond of my growing belly. So fond of it, I took pictures of it almost every day.

But I’ve also made no secret of the fact that I struggled a lot with being pregnant this time. Everything from fatigue, to nausea, to all the aches and pains, everything was just so much more dramatic and uncomfortable than what I had remembered it being like the first time. Those baby kicks I found so amazing also hurt sometimes, especially closer to the end when the babies started to run out of room. I grew large — fast — and though that didn’t bother me from a body image perspective, it was…