2012-08-05 - 12:07 p.m.
an 8 & 1/2 month rant
i feel like there is no place in our society for pregnant women to voice their frustrations about our physical and mental state -- that is is sacrilegious to say anything other than "everything is great!", when the reality of my existence is uncomfortable on my best days, and downright awful on my worst. yes, i know that my condition is temporary and am grateful for having a light at the end of the tunnel, unlike other folks who don't have able bodies permanently, and yes, envisioning the child that will soon enter my life is sometimes helpful to dispelling this horrible mood, but there are days when i am so done with this -- and in being respectful to my husband's beliefs, i have kept this entire pregnancy offline, which has also cut me off from potential support or at least commiseration with other women.
However, I have to say this -- from the birth month groups and websites that I have perused while looking up information and doing research, I have to say that we are creating a false literature about what this experience is like for us as women. Yes, it is a blessing and a miracle what our bodies can do, but in the meanwhile, my body is no longer my own and is governed by my child already. Perhaps it is selfish to want to carve out a small space for myself, but I have always found it to be true that humans need to take care of themselves first and others second. Pregnancy breaks that rule that I've come to live by, as it is the baby first and then me. I am smart enough to understand why this must be in order for it to be properly nourished and grow, but it is also used as an misogynistic excuse for the subjugation of women in America -- we constantly receive the message that it is not about us, that we must bow to nature, grin and bear it (literally).
I'm glad that no one is reading this blog anymore, because I would not be looking forward to the commentary that ensued if I had an actual audience for this post -- but there is something less satisfying about committing this particular feeling to paper. I know that my discomfort is small in the realm of larger things, I know that it will be worth all of the swelling and sweating and trouble climbing stairs, but I am tired of the fiction that all women LOVE being pregnant and that it's such a magical and glorious time, and I wonder why I cannot be honest with many of my own loved ones about what I'm feeling. I fear their judgment of my motherhood skills, I fear being the one to break the silence sometimes (which is strange for me and perhaps a hormone-derivative) and I guess I also fear that I will appear ungrateful that I have been blessed with a child -- I know there are many women (in my family, even) who cannot conceive and do not wish to alienate them further.
thank you for not reading, have a wonderful day. please pull around to window 1 for payment.
xo
L
