I Hated Being Pregnant

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

Angela Cartier

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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 hard to get used to the feeling of it since it was so rapid. I felt like a stranger in my own body very early on and I wasn’t quite prepared for that.

Look, I realize that admitting to not enjoying being pregnant is the kind of thing that may hurt and offend some people. I’m very aware that anyone who wishes more than anything to be pregnant could read those words and feel a great deal of resentment. How dare I, right? How dare I have something they want so desperately and not even appreciate it? I get it, because I was there once too. It wasn’t that long ago when I had all but given up on ever having another child and my heart was so raw from all the hurt I was carrying from struggling with that, that every time one of my seemingly Way More Fertile Than Me friends mentioned the slightest downside to their own pregnancy my bitter mind thought, “Wow you ungrateful bitch.”

Now I’m that ungrateful bitch.

I get it.

I realize a lot (all) of the things I’m complaining about sound like minor grievances. Oh so I was uncomfortable, boohoo.

I’m whining, absolutely.

But there were also the scary parts. The complications and the fears. I spent nearly my entire pregnancy worried that I might lose one or both of my babies. It’s hard to enjoy the experience when that thought is nagging at you.

Given what I know now about how much I hated being pregnant, would I do it all again?

Absolutely, I’d do it a thousand more times if it meant I’d get these two out of the deal.

But would I do it again for an entirely new baby?

Hell no. Not in a million years.

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Angela Cartier

Mom of 3. Writing about motherhood, and my work from home/self employment experimental journey.