A very dear friend of mine called me one day and surprised me with some amazing news. She’s pregnant! She was a person who fiddled around the idea of having children but didn’t particularly plan on it. She is excited nontheless and I am excited for her. Like, hella. As I’m enjoying her news, it takes me through the memories of when I was pregnant.
First, let me say, I was not one of those women who enjoyed pregnancy. I complained all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. I was uncomfortable, irritable, and always tired. I annoyingly received comments on my body, on how tired I looked, and (my favorite) the comparisons with other pregnant women. Not to mention the anxiety of thinking of the labor. Which I still felt the second time around adding the anxiety of feeling I wouldn’t know how to be a mother to two kids. I was a mess! You know, the pregnancy usual. These stuck to me and are sometimes the first things I think about when I look back on pregnancy but what sticks out the most is the connection I had with my babies.
Yes, two people started the process but we, as women, are the ones that see it through. Love and security are what home is and I was their first idea of home. We were in this together. We ate the same things. We felt the same feelings. We were one.
Although the kicking has a slight hint of creepiness to it, the feeling of a tiny human being growing inside me letting me know “Sup, I’m here mommy and I love you as much as you love me” with a quick roundhouse is pretty amazing.
Despite my list of pregnancy negatives, the positives still shine bright. I took part in creating two human beings. I never knew my heart could pump more blood and love than it already did before I became a mother. Pregnancy may not have been the most enjoyable experience for me but I’m pretty sure the motherhood part suits me just right.