I was recently in the comments of the Shaderoom (lol) and randomly clicked on a commentors profile. She was a Harvard educated attorney, only 25 years old, with a beautiful daughter, living her best life as a single mom in LA. Her latest post however documented her feelings during pregnancy, specifically how she was lucky enough to be able to attend child psychology classes, she had two baby showers, one tea party themed, she got to go to baby prep classes, had maternity shoots and was able to do basically everything that most modern-day moms do or want to do to prepare for their baby.
While reading, I thought “wow, this is everything I wanted to do, down to the tea party themed shower”. Unfortunately I never got to do any of those things, but as she continued on, she wrote about how she didn’t have anyone to share the news about her baby’s gender with, nor did she have a partner to attend her appointments. She didn’t have a late night junk food companion, or someone to rub her back and feet or even cut the umbilical cord…she cut it herself.
Up until I read that post, I thought I had come to terms with the fact that I didn’t do any of the fun baby prep things because I was busy prepping for baby alright but it sure as hell wasn’t what I would call fun! So I felt maybe 1% resentful that I didn’t experience the “fun” things, but as I read on I felt 100% blessed and grateful that I did have my husband by my side throughout my pregnancy. Literally y’all, this man sat next to me in the car EVERY evening as I heaved and threw up into a (thick) plastic bag in the dead of winter with the windows up because I ALWAYS got car sick.
He made me laugh with comments such as “wow, it smells like cheese” and “when did you have rice? That looks like rice” and he was right next to me as I again went at in the toilet upon arriving home. When I started developing the symptoms that lead to preeclampsia, he rubbed my huge swollen feet everyday for hours on end, he even took me shoe shopping while laughing hysterically at the loaves of bread I called feet. We both went to all the ultrasounds, and check ups, we both worried about my ever rising blood pressure and we ate! We ate together and afterwards he would rub my back as I once again heaved into the toilet bowl.
While I was pregnant, I was tired, overwhelmed even, because we really didn’t want to have our baby come home to our bachelor pad, basement apartment. It was dark, depressing and small. We worked hard, sacrificing warm shoes during blizzards and warm enough coats, just to be able to afford our home and for me to be able to take extended leave from work.
We worked so hard we were exhausted, so exhausted we just couldn’t do the fun stuff. There were late nights packing, and moving and painting to get everything ready. And like clockwork, I started developing preeclampsia the week after we moved in, with our baby girl arriving shortly after that. Again however, he was right by my side. So that 1% of resentfulness faded away as I thought about my experience, in so many ways, we are so fortunate, and I am so grateful for our journey. I promise you, I’m trying extremely hard not to be corny right now, but honestly sometimes, hard paths really do take you to some of the best places and again, I am so grateful.