It's the Little Experiences that Matter

I'm now almost thirty-six weeks and I can't say that lots has happened. Or perhaps it seems as if nothing major has happened, so therefore I haven't felt that I've had anything significant to post. Yet, if I look at the little things as a whole there are certain particulars that are interesting, or at least good to consider.

For instance, I have noticed that the few things that I have commented about, when said to veteran moms, hasn't been met with a whole lot of empathy (or i it tends to be masked behind the comment "just you wait"). I realize these veterans are just warning me and trying to be supportive, but sometimes it's just nice to hear some empathy. For instance, for the past month or so I have not been able to get a full nights sleep at all simply because I'm up either every hour or if I'm lucky two to three hours, in order to go pee. I realize that once the baby comes I'll be up this amount anyways, and then I'll be dealing with the cries of an infant. So it isn't that I'm naive, or that I don't appreciate the silence that I currently have. However, that doesn't mean I'm not tired! The expert advice is stock up on sleep now and enjoy these last few weeks where it's just you and your partner. But there is no possible way for me to stock up on sleep and the only part I can enjoy is being able to sleep in and take naps throughout the day.  So, it really is nice to be able to voice this and just simply be heard. Even an empathetic, "Ah yes, preparation for when you have to get up every two hours to feed or change a diaper" is preferable; at least in this comment there is an element of empathy while recognizing  what is to come.

That said, as a woman going through my first pregnancy, every experience is a new experience for me. So when I say that I feel as if my belly is as stretched as it ever could be I don't need expert eyes rolling around, nor do I need to hear, "Just you wait". Again, I am not naive, I fully understand that my belly will continue to stretch and grow as long as this baby continues to thrive within me. HOWEVER, no matter at what stage of the pregnancy I am in, whether it was thirteen weeks to when I am quite possibly forty-two weeks, at that point in time my belly IS as big as it ever has been! And right now at thirty-five weeks I most definitely feel like I've eaten an entire turkey - that's still alive and moving! And yes my belly may not weigh as much as a turkey, but let me assure you that it at least looks like the size of a turkey.

To be quite frank I quite enjoy my belly and am rather proud of it. As it continues to grow and protrude to the point that I am now wearing Luke's sweatshirts as not even the stretchiest of mine will do up over it, I admit that I never cease to be impressed by the beauty of its roundness, nor do I tire of admiring it in the mirror. I really have no opinion of whether it is a large belly or a small belly, I just know that it is growing and that in the past two weeks it feels as if my baby girl is moving and stretching around a lot more which I know to be an indication of a very healthy baby. However, in talking about the size of my belly, it really is a funny thing how many different opinions the general public has to say about it. Last week I was at the health-food store where the ladies have seen me progress from my early pregnancy symptom of morning-sickness to now. They smiled and one said,
"Any time now. How many days?" To which I replied,
"I'm not sure how many days, but it's five weeks until my due date." At which point her eyes got instantly wider as she stared at my belly. I laughed. She finally got her words together and with both fascination and genuine sympathy she exclaimed,
"You're going to be so big by the end. I really do feel sorry for you." Now I could've been insulted by such a remark, but instead I smiled and simply stated,
"It's genetics." To begin with I have a short torso, so there really isn't anywhere for my baby to go but outward; plus I'm only 5'3" whereas my husband is 6'4". In addition I have seen pictures of my own mother at the end of her pregnancies, I have seen my cousins, and I have seen my sister. I have fully been prepared and expected that I too would have a big belly - it was pretty much a guarantee. So, I really did find the lady's exclamation that I have a big baby belly to be quite humorous. But then a couple days later I was at the Harrison pool with my sister and some paediatric nurses were there trying to guess how old my four month niece was and how far along I was. As it turns out in their opinion I had quite a nice small belly, which was nice to hear as well. Regardless of the opinions that are out there, I firmly believe that if you are eating well, consuming enough to feed both you and your baby, and being active in some way (whether that be as much as going to the gym to workout, doing modified workouts in your own home, going for hikes, or simply going for walks or leisurely swims) and just as long as you are taking care of your health to the best of your ability, then you should take pride in that gorgeously unique belly of yours.

Two other things that I have noticed in the past two weeks is first my stomach has become sensitive to acidic raw foods (such as tomatoes); second while my aversion to certain smells subsided at the end of my first trimester, I have recently gained a new aversion to the smell of fried food, especially fried bacon. In regards to the acidic food its happened twice now that I've eaten cherry tomatoes as a snack only for them to induce vomiting not too long afterwards. As for the smell of bacon, it's gotten to the point where I insist that Luke turns the fan on high when he's frying it up in the morning, open the kitchen window, close the bedroom door, and possible even open the front door. One day it seemed as if the smell lingered for so long that it bombarded me during the night, kept me from falling asleep, and actually made me feel ill to the point that I finally got up and put a few drops of lavender oil on a cotton ball so I could hold it up to my nose in an attempt to mask the smell. Yesterday I had both sensitivities combine for a rather unpleasant experience. For breakfast I had juiced a banana, an orange, a grapefruit, and a couple carrots; although it tasted alright it wasn't long before the acidity of the orange and grapefruit sent me running to the bathroom. Then, although I ate another hearty meal including ground flax and an egg, I still wasn't feeling good and it didn't help that Luke was frying up some bacon. I just couldn't handle it, so I went curled up in bed. Luke came by not too long after wondering where I had gone and curled up next to me and asked if I was ok and could he do anything? I replied nicely that no there wasn't anything to do and all I had to say next was,
"You smell like bacon." Thankfully he laughed, wasn't offended and graciously left me to nap.

I suppose the other most major thing that has occurred is a change in my state of mind. It could be called nesting, except that I'm not on a major cleaning obsession. However, at thirty-four weeks I suddenly realized that I only had six weeks left until due date. This alone didn't quite freak me out, but it was then that I realized that meant there were only five weeks remaining of the semester and five weeks until I completed the final class of my long awaited degree. Five weeks sounded like a lot, except that I still had a final midterm essay, a proposal, a group project and a final paper all due within this time; now it's only three weeks left of class and still I'm working on all four assignments! Thankfully two are due on Monday, so that will be a relief, and I've gotten the ball rolling with both the group project and the final paper. At the same time, while completing this class and hence my degree should be my priority, this is not where my concentration is. On the contrary, I'm finding it very difficult to be motivated or to consider it pressing at all; instead it's as if all I can really think about is making sure I have all my baby and nursing gear and essentials in order - after all what if my baby girl comes early and I'm not ready? That's what happened with my sister-in-law. Her delivery was a planned home-birth; but ended up being an adventure in an unattended home-birth. Thankfully everything went well and apparently my brother was the best birthing partner ever - until my niece was actually born and he didn't know what to do from there and panicked a little. For full details on this amazing story visit my sister-in-laws blog listed below and read the post called "Adventures in Birthing at Home." Let's just say that after this Luke made sure that I had a brand new pack of shoelace in our birthing kit as we too are planning a home-birth. I'm as ready as I can be now. Everything is in order and I have my supplies. Now I just have to keep refocusing my concentration on finishing this class!
http://littleschartnerfamily.blogspot.ca

Finally, I just want to mention one of the fun things that have occurred these past few weeks and that I highly recommend first time parents, but also parents going through repeat pregnancies as well, and that is to spend quality time with your family as it is right now before the new addition arrives. Luke and I have spent a lot of time going on adventures, watching TV and movies, going out for dinner (thank you to my sister-in-law Kylie for the Swiss Chalet gift card), cuddling, sleeping in and essentially just being together and enjoying the quality time spent as just the two of us. Luke even surprised me by gathering up the supplies and painting my toenails one night. Getting ready for our baby girl and doing it together has definitely been one of the highlights and half the fun of this pregnancy. Plus, it's been incredibly bonding for Luke and I to relax together and have him both feel and chuckle at how active our baby girl can really get - especially while I'm getting ready for bed. To hear Luke either laugh and say,
"That's my girl. That's the Luke in her, " or "I can't wait to meet her," while we're all cuddled up almost has no other comparison and really solidifies the fact that we are in fact a family.

Perceptions and Empowerment of Pregnancy and Birth

Recently I had tea with both my mom and my grammy. I was telling them about my appointment with my midwife and how instead of gaining the expected three pounds I actually lost two pounds from the last time I had weighed in. I also mentioned that my midwife had assured me that it's quite normal because as the pregnancy progresses the stomach becomes quite squashed; so women think they're eating enough because they feel full and her recommendation was for me to keep a food journal to make sure I was consuming an adequate amount of calories. However, as mentioned earlier my belly measurements were right on track for the proper growth of my baby girl, so there really wasn't anything to worry about.

After relaying my good news I thought we'd go on to talk about something else. However, I was pleasantly surprised when Grammy exclaimed with perhaps a bit of amusement mixed with the added measure of wisdom gained over time by watching different trends come and go,
"My goodness things have changed. Why when I only went to the doctor to confirm I was pregnant and then I didn't go to the hospital again until the birth."

As strange and possible amusing as she thought all this fuss surrounding pregnancy is in this day and age, the idea of only seeing someone to confirm your pregnancy and then not again until delivery was equally shocking to me. Listening to Grammy as she relayed her experience uncovered some interesting facts. For instance, she said that the only time she saw her doctor was to confirm her pregnancy; remember at this time there were no chemical tests and apparently there wasn't even a blood test. So how was pregnancy confirmed? The doctor simply felt her abdomen. I automatically assumed that she must've been well into her second trimester for him to feel anything but Grammy says she wasn't that far along at all. There were no ultrasounds just the reliance of feel, amazing.

From previous stories that my parents had told of their mom's birthing experience I had always imagined a very isolated, lonely and drug induced labour that eradicated any memory of the birthing experience. I even heard it said that my Grammy was so high during her second delivery that she developed a fleeting crush on her doctor and told him he was so nice that she was naming her new son after him. That is how my uncle got his name; no special meaning, no input from my Grandpa, simply a name given while high on medical drugs. It was stories such as these that instilled in me my fear of hospital controlled births.

However, comments made by my grammy gave me new insight and a new perception. I must've mentioned to her that Luke would probably be working away in Squamish when I went into labour, but since it's my first I'm really not too concerned because it'll probably take hours and I'm sure he'll make it here in plenty of time. Grammy agreed and although she thought it would be nice for me to have Luke's support she said she was sure I'd be fine; after all John (my grandpa) wasn't present for any one of her five births and in some she couldn't even get ahold of him to take her to the hospital, so she gave birth all by herself. She laughed saying that she was so young and didn't know anything, but birth was normal so she wasn't nervous at all. I was slightly taken aback that she could say that birth was normal; from all my research birth was so medicalized by her generation that now the dominant idea is that birth is abnormal until proven otherwise and generally only with a midwife (unless you happen to be fortunate to have an exceptional doctor) is birth considered normal until proven otherwise. It really was an alter of perception to bring the stories of her drug induced birthing experiences together with the fact that she believed that birth was normal and therefore needn't be scared or nervous. This really made me curious so I asked her what her mother's birthing experiences were like. It came as a great surprise to me that my great-grandmother had her first two at home and her third with a health nurse who had rooms set up in her house (essentially a birthing centre) that were actually quite comfortable as it resembled being at home. My grammy is the oldest of her siblings; while she wasn't directly involved with the births of her siblings she was around for them and as far as she can remember birth just happened. In addition, my grandpa's mom had all of her children at home. So, it seems reasonable that because she grew up and was surrounded with the idea that birth is normal that she wouldn't have any hesitations about her own body's ability to go through the same process.

My grammy's stories really highlight the different social expectations from her generation and community to the ones that I face. Many friends and family who know me find it only obvious that I chose a midwife. Yet I have seen the element of surprise cross many brows when they find out that I'm attempting to have a home-birth. Considering the images that we're constantly fed about birth I suppose I should expect such a reaction; after all the media almost always depicts birth as almost equivalent to horrific rather than a event of great power. Even in movies where a home-birth is shown (as in the movie "Back Up Plan") it still comes off as traumatic for the main characters. Only recently did I come across an episode in the series "Bones" where home-birth was considered the optimum for comfort, safety, and health. The main character Dr. Brennan saw birth as completely natural. She emphasized the fact that the female body is designed to give birth and she was adamant that the best and most natural place for her to give birth was at home.  For a show about about the science of bones I was secretly hoping that she'd have this opinion, but was preparing myself for the disappointment of yet another scientific hospital birth (although I felt it would have to run contradictory to someone who should intimately know the true design and intent of the human body).  I was absolutely thrilled that Dr. Brennan was an adamant advocate for birth being both normal and believing in her body's natural ability to give birth.

 I was fortunate to have parents who also believed birth was normal and chose to have a doula in the hospital with my sister attended by an empathetic doctor who had her baby at home. Following my sister they chose to have myself and my two brothers at home. Like my grammy I was raised believing birth is normal. I have no fears concerning labour. I am not naive - I know full well that  it takes time and that it's painful (they don't call them labour pains or the ring-of-fire for nothing). I may actually enjoy the experience, or I may scream, holler, and cry while begging for it all to go away. I can't know, I can't even really speculate, until I'm there and I've done it. However, just as my grammy believed in her body's natural ability to give birth, I too believe in my own body and so the nervousness that surrounds so many other births just aren't present within me. To be honest I am petrified of the possibility of a hospital birth; however, I know that there is a time and place for everything. If it is determined that it would be best to transfer to the hospital my only prayer is that I'll be able to accept this with grace rather than a fear that could very well arrest labour and result in emergency intervention. Of course I know that however my baby girl comes into this world as long as she's healthy that's what's most important. For now I am encouraged with my grammy's statement when she found out my mom had chosen a home-birth,
"Your grandma gave birth to all her kids at home. If she can do it so can you." I come from a long line of women who believed in birth - I am no exception and from their strength I take comfort.

Finally Feeling Fine and Fabulous

I'm 31 weeks and these are just a few things I've noticed:


My innie bellybutton has started to become an outie and it's actually quite soft,  I've begun to waddle, and I get tired more often and need an afternoon nap.

The less than pleasant aspects of the third trimester include:


Bending over has started to interfere with a variety of activities: tying my shoes (slip-ons are the go-to), sitting down and getting up (this goes sitting in the kitchen, the couch, the car, the bed, tying shoes, going to the bathroom and of course shaving). In fact last Friday I cleaned the bathroom, but when it came to cleaning out the bathtub I chose to leave it for Luke as I just couldn't fathom the thought of spending that much time bent over scrubbing the tub!

The heartburn I had in the first trimester has returned with a vengeance. Since I had an issue with kidney stones at the beginning of the pregnancy I have been avoiding Tums due to their calcium intake. As a result I'm back to munching on raw almonds or taking papaya enzymes. Both seem to be quite effective, but I think the almonds work best.



I've noticed little brown moles or skin tags on my breasts. The midwife assures me this is normal and they can appear all over the body but are more noticeable on breasts since they're more visible (especially since I've been slathering them in cream hoping to avoid stretch marks). That reminds me I have gotten stretch marks, neither very dark nor prominent, but they are right there on the top of my breasts. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised as my breasts are noticeably larger - even to people besides my husband. As of yet I haven't gotten any on my stomach but I do have approximately another ten weeks to go.


For the first time on February 13 I felt her up under my ribs - it wasn't that bad, but I'm not looking forward to that advancing because I'm sure it will only get more uncomfortable and painful the bigger and stronger she gets.

The more pleasant and simply enjoyable aspects of pregnancy include:

The love and enjoyment I once had for my dog Oscar has returned. I now really like taking him for a walk and playing fetch again. I even let him cuddle with me and his dog smell doesn't disgust me. However, I do think he could benefit from a bath. But again bending over for that amount of time holds no appeal, plus I'm almost guaranteed to get a bout of heartburn if I attempt it. So, washing the dog becomes another chore to add to Luke's to-do-because-I'm-pregnant-list.


I feel my baby girl quite frequently now and if I'm paying attention I can see my belly warp and ripple to her movements. Although she's active I don't think my baby girl really goes to town like she's entered a kickboxing match; instead it's more like she's stretching or adjusting, and when it does get a little more vigourous it's as if she's letting me know my position is squishing her and she's not in favour. This is such an incredible feeling that I don't even know how to describe it. I really don't have the words to explain and I think only another woman who has gone through it can understand what I'm saying. However, it's pretty entertaining and definitely steals my attention to watch my belly move and morph. It's also been fun to have Luke watch and feel when she really gets moving.

Probably one of the nicest things I've noticed is that the more I get out, see friends, go for walks, and eat nutritious meals the better I feel emotionally and physically. For such a long time I felt like I had no energy and for the majority of the time I felt sickly. Even when my severe nausea and puking finally faded I was still left with the uncomfortable feeling of getting over a flu. However, that has mostly abated and when I do start to feel a bit nauseas then I know it's time to eat and give my girl some calories to bulk up on. That may sound a bit funny but it's important to consume more calories to ensure that the baby is gaining adequate nutrition to develop, grow and build up her fat reserves for warmth. I had a midwife appointment a couple days ago and found out that rather than gaining the expected pound a week I actually lost two pounds! Initially this sounds great, but the reality is that it's the baby gaining weight that's important and to lose weight is a bit of a concern. However, when my midwife measured my belly it read 30 centimetres (approximately a centimetre for every week of gestation) which means that my baby girls growth is right on track. This means that it really was me that lost the two pounds - not too surprising since now that I'm feeling better I'm definitely more active. Once again my midwife assured me that it was normal to lose weight at this point because a mother's stomach gets so squashed that she may eat a meal and feel like she ate a sufficient amount because she's full. While my midwife encouraged me to continue being active and eating nutritious meals, she also mentioned monitoring my calorie intake to make sure it's sufficient and suggested eating more snacks. Of course, as Luke can attest to, I do eat quite often and I always have something in my purse just in case I need snack while we're out.

Finally, I have noticed that older people (men and women alike) seem to get the most enjoyment out of the prospect of new life. I'm constantly met with smiles, inquiries as to if I can feel her kicking, and when am I due. Actually there's one lady in my aqua-fit class that asks me when I'm due every time she sees me, it's cute and I'm happy to talk about it. After all it's quite the marvellous feat of nature that I'm accomplishing by growing this baby girl. I think it's this fact combined with my overall feeling of wellbeing that for the first time yesterday I felt like I had the pregnancy glow - random people kept smiling and saying hello to me. I felt noticed and my pregnant state seemed to make people more friendly than usual. It was nice and it made this pregnant woman feel especially good about herself.

Feelings of Fat

Today I am twenty-nine weeks and feeling fabulous. If you had asked me one week ago though I would've claimed that I officially felt fat. In fact while getting ready for bed I stated as such to Luke who without hesitation and reassurance in his eyes stated empathetically,
"You're beautiful." It's amazing how much this little comfort from him helped to boost my self-image. Even though at that point I saw my body as one that had changed from a figure of curves to a figure of face, boobs, but mostly belly. So, what changed from one week to the next? The input from my Sociology class and with it a new perception; or should I say the reinstatement of the original belief that a woman's pregnant body is the pinnacle of creation as it is the carrier and bringer of new life.

My class is titled Sociology of Parenting in Popular Culture. Essentially this class takes a look at how media influences our decisions and feelings as parents by subjecting us to contemporary ideologies - which are mostly defined by affluent white and heterogenous standards. This past week talked a lot about the idea of guilt and mother blaming which starts in pregnancy, even before the child is born. Advice through baby-help books and health pamphlets and literature may seem that they are offering sound advice, but when it words it in ways that only their option is valid and any other choice bad, it leaves us mothers wondering if our intuition is faulty? For instance, in a book I just read Heading Home With Your Newborn, while I found most of the information interesting and felt it helped to bolster my confidence in my ability to be a parent, there was one section which talks about flying with an infant that left me questioning. This section while confirming that infants under two fly for free they state that it doesn't guarantee a free seat for your baby. So, for your infant's safety it would only be diligent to pay the extra cost so that you can buckle your baby in their own personal seat. Personally I decided that I wouldn't pay for the extra seat, but the indication is that my ability to be a good/great mom doesn't quite make it up to snuff. Thankfully a discussion with my husband who thought that advice was ridiculous, and a bit overkill, helped eradicate that lingering feeling of inadequacy.

Another discussion that has come up through this Sociology class is the idea that media dictates body image and new moms are no exception. Through media new moms are pressured to erase any hint of the encumbrance of their pregnancy by bombarding us with images of "better than before" bikini clad post pregnant celebrities (Hallstein, 2011). It may seem absurd that media has this much influence but when these same images are mixed with not so flattering "before" or pregnant pictures the message is clear: a pregnant body is fat, gross and out-of-control whereas the post pregnant body is disciplined and not just beautiful, but ultra sexy (Hallstein, 119). Of course there's a lot more analysis on both sides, but when it comes to undue pressure that new moms feel it isn't hard to find evidence. For instance a recent Facebook posting from a pregnant friend stated her frustration that she didn't feel pregnant, just fat. Now I can understand this but what I thought was more interesting than her post was the commentary she received. All the posting were from women and they all offered sympathy but none encouraged her to embrace the beauty of pregnancy; however, one guy did just that. "You must embrace this! It's totally worth it! Plus, a lot of dudes think pregnant broads are hot." Yet, the next comment was from a woman who thought the guy's comment was "weird." I thought this interaction exemplified the change in contemporary ideology from viewing the pregnant body as mysterious, an honour and the essence of beauty to viewing it as out-of-control and fat, and seeing it any other way is weird. At the same time it also shows that, while this may be the contemporary ideology, clearly not everyone adheres or has fallen for this train of thought.

As for me, I refute the contemporary idea that my pregnant body is bad, out of control, or even gross. Yes my body is growing just as the baby within me is growing; it is right on track and it is healthy. I have a beautiful voluptuous body that emulates life.

Part 2: A Relatable Experience

The Unexpected of Expecting

by Erin Schartner

Nine weeks and six days, that’s how long it’s been since Desiree felt well. Desiree is sick of being, well, sick. Even more depressing is that people can tell just by looking at her.

            “Oh Des, you do not look good. You look green.” And their comments are always included with a look that she suspects is supposed to be sympathetic. Instead it seems to look more like a fear of contagion. The simple fact that they can tell how bad she really feels is rather disheartening.

Before all this, Des was the type of woman that when she caught a cold she would make a point of taking extra care on her hair, makeup and even her nails. Even when her sinuses were all congested with thick goopy mucus, and it felt like her head had expanded to twice its normal size, she’d still make a point of picking out a particularly flattering outfit. All this effort just to go to the grocery store to pick up the few essentials: Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, Neo Citron, Advil Cold and Sinus, menthol rub, mint tea, and a few favourite flavours of Fisherman’s Friends. Most of the time she’d end up getting a few second glances – even with her ring on.

            “I know I should be happy, “Desiree tells those who ask, “but really, how can I be happy when I’m completely uncomfortable in my own body? How can I seriously be happy when at least three to four times a day I’m hovering over the sink, or heaving over the toilet?”

To make matters worse, Desiree has a very annoying Jack Russell that is far from empathetic. While she clings to sanity by grasping onto the cool relief of porcelain, her dog tosses her his liver red rubber ball and bounces around in anticipation. His tongue hangs out and he gets a dopey Odie look on his face as he whines with impatience. Also, even though she knows he’s a clean dog, he still smells like a dog. This animal she loved just weeks ago is now a source of particular irritation, one she has no tolerance for. However, against her protests and attempts to give her friends a free dog her husband, Rob, simply won’t hear of getting rid him. According to him this dog is their trial child; apparently she is failing the test. 

Desiree is pregnant: nine weeks and six days, sixty-nine days in all. This means she still has at least three weeks and four days until the first trimester is over and God have mercy is starting to feel better.  Of course, that’s the glimmer of hope that people have been feeding her.

“Don’t worry,” they all tell her, “you’re body is in shock. It won’t be long now until you’re starting to feel like your normal self.”

Although the symptoms are very physical, the real problem is that Desiree herself is in shock. Yes, she doesn’t recognize her own body. But, more importantly, she no longer recognizes herself. She is at a loss. All the research, all the preparation, all the knowledge and all the experience she has acquired: from reading, to watching academic films, to volunteering at a maternity clinic, to attending four different births, and to being an aunt five times over, not to mention the countless number of friends and co-workers she’s helped; it all meant nothing. She is now living the experience and it is unnerving. She is unprepared for reality.

            Desiree hears Rob roll over in bed. She’s envious of the ease with which he’ll proceed through his day.  She has been awake since her bladder woke her up at 6am. This has become normal. She tries to go back to bed. She curls up with Rob under their king size down duvet. She feels both the luxurious weightlessness of it as it settles around her and the warmth as it encapsulates her. Of course the promise of sleep is just a tease because, like every morning, she gets nauseous. Like a wave it rises up in her throat. The lining of her stomach itself threatens to come violently crashing out. So, just as she’s being seduced back to sleep, she’s torn back into reality, has to spring from bed and dash for the toilet.

Desiree looks at her face in the mirror. Whatever sort of glow that she had seen on other women, and assumed she would get, has bypassed her. Instead of blissful radiance, her cheeks are smeared with blotches of crimson that glare in contrast to the grisly grey that make up the rest of her complexion. Her brow is beaded in sweat, and her eyes are red and swollen from tears that gushed forth during her torment.

Desiree is convinced that her body has been taken over by someone else. She believes the Des she knows, out of sheer preservation of sanity, has fled and left a fraud in her place – leaving her totally bewildered by her own thoughts. The original Des enjoys having an organized house, spotless floors, a tidy bedroom, and a meticulously clean kitchen. However, the new persona doesn’t clean, doesn’t do laundry, doesn’t make the bed, and doesn’t do dishes until absolutely necessary. Original Des loves everything about cooking: the aromas, the preparation, and mostly the flavours – especially ones involving tomatoes and spices. The fraud on the other hand has an uncanny super heightened sense of smell and can barely open the fridge without gagging. Cooking rarely happens and frozen prepared meals, or canned soup, have become the bland norm. And, forget about anything with tomatoes (too acidic), or anything spicy (including basic pepper) because it burns her stomach to such an extent that it feels like literal holes are being burnt through. In addition, no matter how plain or tame the food, inevitably she is afflicted with intense heartburn that strikes within minutes of consumption. Desiree does not like this alter ego she’s never had to face before.

 Wearily Desiree tumbles through the shadows and shakily crawls back into bed. Rob’s arms stretch out and encircle her in tenderness and strength she no longer possesses. Through the dark Diane feels his eyes on her.

            “Thank you,” Rob whispers. Traces of guilt and pity cling to his voice.

            “Thank you?” Desiree mumbles.

“Well yeah, I mean I don’t have to go through any of this. And, I feel partially responsible.” Desiree snickers, but it’s a moment like this that she cleaves to in order to keep going.

***

“Of course he’s responsible,” Laura says, “He’s got thousands of active swimmers with a destination in mind. We only have one stationary egg.” Whereas Desiree is ending her ninth week, Laura only has three left. Laura is the only person Desiree trusts. She’s the only one that didn’t try to make pregnancy seem like a dream and told her exactly how it was: a parasite had occupied her body.

Laura is waddling around her living room sorting through the dog’s toys and the kids’ toys. “You’re still puking then?” she asks as she reaches around her ever-growing belly and picks up a discarded tiara, a plush pink bunny, a handful of colourful Hot Wheels and a stringy bright blue octopus that looks like it has been mauled first by the kids and then done away by the dog.

Desiree wishes she could help. After all, Laura is at the very end of her pregnancy and she’s still carrying on. It shouldn’t be her cleaning up and making Desiree feel comfortable – it should be her helping Laura. It should be her who insists that her sister sit down and relax; she’ll make the tea and make sure the house is tidy. Instead she watches in amazement as Laura attempts to bend over.

 “I feel like I’ve been deceived,” Desiree confesses. “Obviously I knew that I would be nauseous once in awhile, but nobody, except you, told me it would be like this. I mean everything I’ve read states, “some women may experience nausea; medication may be necessary for extreme cases.” It just baffles me that I’m the extreme case. If it’s this bad, why would my friends ask me when it was going to be my turn? Is it some cruel joke?”

“I didn’t lie to you.” Laura’s no nonsense expression reveals the severity of the situation. “You really only get one trimester, the second one, where you feel somewhat at ease. The first trimester you’re sick – like your body is under attack. It thinks that whatever is going on is not normal. Your body violently resists. But that little sucker holds on tight. That’s when you know you’ve got a healthy fetus – and it’s the only condolence that gets you through.”

“I really thought you were just exaggerating,” Desiree admits. “I really didn’t fully grasp that when women said they were nauseous, they didn’t mean they were having a moment that would pass shortly. They literally meant that they had been puking before I got there. Even you, I think I’ve only seen you run to the bathroom once in all four pregnancies!”

“People think they understand. They read books, they watch movies, they listen to their friends throughout their pregnancies, and they think they’ve got it down. Then they get pregnant.”

“I’m so bitter.” Desiree’s face looks like it has just confessed a deadly sin. “It’s like I have this evil phantom sucking away the life I once knew. “ Laura laughs. “I’m serious. Like yesterday, all I did was make myself lunch, run some errands, came home and crashed for three hours! I’m exhausted all the time. It’s a good thing I quit work to go back to school full-time. I can only imagine the absolute torture it would’ve been to drive half hour to work, only to have to duck down to the garbage can whenever a particularly smelly client came in. Puking in public is mortifying even if it has become my norm. And poor Rob, he desperately wants to tell everyone the news.”

“How is Rob taking all this anyways?”

“Oh, he’s stoked, his words exactly. He can’t wait to start on Team Hanson. He’s already researching prices of little 50 cc dirt bikes; the thing isn’t even born yet and won’t be able to ride for at least four years. Anyways, I think he wants me to break out the news so he can go viral with it. The thing is I just don’t want to tell people until I can receive their congratulations with the same enthusiasm. And right now, I just feel useless.”

 “Hey, your body’s working overtime. You’re growing a human being!”

“Yeah, I guess, when you put it like that. Still I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

“It isn’t fun. It gets to the point where you think, Is this even worth it? But trust me, it is.”

“I actually have to search for things to give me hope. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far: the constant vomiting has given me incredible abs, my nails have never looked better (look how long they are) and my boobs have grown two whole cup sizes,” Desiree announces with a slight smile of pride and sits up a little straighter.

Leaving her sister’s place, Des thinks about her options.  Her options? She doesn’t have any options. Women’s liberation and the right to choose: bullshit is more accurate. Sure preggo Desiree hollers and complains and threatens to march her into the clinic. Realistically, original Des would never forgive her. She was the one who had insisted she wanted a hockey team, well at least four. She was the one whose eyes would narrow into jealous slits whenever a friend announced that they were pregnant – again. She was the one who had dressed up as mother Mary with baby Jesus when she was five and declared to her cousin in the backseat of their Grandma’s car, “You can’t be an ice-cream truck driver. You have to be a mom first!” Original Des had been rehearsing, planning, and anticipating her maternal role her entire life. She would never forgive preggo Desiree for killing that desire. And if you can’t forgive yourself, you can’t live with yourself. Not that she’s actually serious. It’s just that imposter Desiree comes up with some very defeatist thoughts – ones she feels simply horrible for even having.

***

It is 12:25pm the following afternoon. Desiree and Rob are supposed to be at the dating ultrasound at 12:45. Desiree has been given strict instructions to have four tall glasses of water before noon. She wasn’t sure how she could possibly manage that, but somehow she manages to gulp back the last few drops minutes past noon.  While Rob snoozes on their brown leather couch in the living room, Desiree is sitting at the kitchen table reading the morning paper. All of a sudden it hits her. She shoots up and freezes, hoping to choke back the feeling. No such luck. Liquid spew bursts into her mouth as she clenches it shut, hoping to make it to the bathroom. She doesn’t. Instead a violent stream bursts out four feet in front of her, explodes onto the smooth surface of the glass stove top, covers the cherry red tea kettle, smashes into the side of the oven, and finally collides with the oak laminate flooring down at her feet. She stands there unable to move, silently watching the liquid trickle away from her down towards the sink.

“Wow. That came from nowhere,” Rob remarks from his viewpoint on the couch. His eyes are wide with both fascination and horror. “You looked like a cartoon. You know the ones that open their mouth and this impossible jet stream of vomit comes out?” Desiree was not amused, but at least a section of her floors will now get cleaned. Floors have ceased to be done by the fraud that occupies Desiree; the nausea does not permit it. Desiree goes into the bathroom and tosses Rob a towel so he can start cleaning up.

“It’s time for our date,” comes Rob’s reminder through the bathroom door ten minutes later. Desiree looks at herself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks and swollen eyes again. Well, she’s pregnant. Like she said before this is a whole new game; one she doesn’t know how to play. She no longer cares. She’s not only physically tired, but she’s mentally exhausted as well. So what if she doesn’t look like life is grand. Emotionally she’s simply too fatigued to care about the rules anymore.

It only takes Desiree opening the bathroom door and taking one look at Rob’s anxious expression, full of concern for just her, before she breaks down and cries into Rob’s chest.

“I’m so tired,” she manages to express between sobs. “I’m carrying the burden of humanity, and it’s just too much.”

“Well Frodo, I can’t carry your burden, so I’m not going to suggest it. But I can help lessen your load. Tell you what, I’ll cook dinner tonight. I’ll even do some laundry,” Rob replies empathetically with a hint of cheekiness.  “But, let’s not worry about it now. Are you ready to go take a look at our baby?” By now Desiree’s tears have subsided. As she takes an involuntary gasp of air she nods in resignation and allows Rob to gently guide her out the door.

Sitting on the hospital bed in the ultrasound room Desiree undoes her pants with relief. The cold jelly on her stomach melts into warmth as the technician moves the wand around her abdomen. Then there it is up on the screen: her baby. It’s an iridescent blue against a black screen, but it was there. It’s only 3.5cm’s long. Although the image is fuzzy Desiree knows through her previous and extensive research that already it has eyes, ears, arms with finger buds, and legs with toe buds. Rob and Desiree watch in amazement as a little flicker in its chest blinks rapidly – a normal heartbeat of one hundred forty four beats per minute.  The technician takes a few pictures and labels one frame: head, bum, arms, and legs. She prints off a filmstrip for the couple to hang on their fridge.

Outside Desiree is holding the first pictures of their baby.

“It’s just the size of a bite-size chocolate bar.” She looks up at Rob in amazement. “Think about it. It’s just this tiny little being swimming around inside me,” she remarks as she twiddles her fingers around her abdomen, subconsciously adjusting to the tangibility of the whole ordeal. Reality sinks in. This is their baby. This is what it’s all about.

“It looks like a hamster,” Rob decides looking down over her shoulder at the pictures. “A fat little body and little limbs.”

“Let’s nickname it Hammy,” Des smiles – even as the urge to vomit sweeps over her. 

Part 1: A Relatable Experience

As briefly mentioned in the last couple postings the first eighteen weeks of my pregnancy is a continual blur of nausea and vomiting. Yes I was on the medication called Diclectin which is supposed to help eliminate or reduce these symptoms. Perhaps it did start to help me, however I still puked two to four times everyday and the constant nausea left me fatigued and drained of any positive energy.

The reason that I mention this unfortunate experience yet again isn't because I'm hung up on it. I mention it merely to show that pregnancy has a way of springing the unexpected on various women and that this is not only normal (however unfortunate) but even relatable. For instance even the future queen of England, the Duchess Kate Middleton, ended up in Emergency due to severe nausea and dehydration. Even royalty experience reality; their life style may be different, but they're still human and their bodies react just as ours do. In response to my last posting I had a friend contact me to share that she too had a really hard pregnancy - she was sick for seven months! And since my own experience I have heard many such stories bearing a similar resemblance. These stories are all told out of empathy and also encouragement that once the baby arrives it really is worth all the pain. I believe them or I don't think any of these brave women who have shared their experiences with me would have gone on to have another one, two, and even three more.

The interesting thing to me is that I didn't hear these stories, except my sisters' stories, until after I had gone through it myself. Perhaps I wasn't listening, but I personally suspect that I just couldn't grasp the full extent of their pain and discomfort because like I said last post it's next to impossible to really understand unless you've actually lived the experience yourself. The other option is that stories like these aren't talked about. When the general public hears that a woman is pregnant it seems they expect her to be super happy and enthusiastic. Unless they're really close friends it's assumed that they don't really want to hear the gross details and often times the pregnant woman's woes are only heard as complaints and whining. Stop the pity party please. So, instead of talking honestly pregnant women force a smile and merely say, "Thank you." At least I did. I was hesitant to really share the full extent of what I was going through because I didn't want to scare my friends who have yet to be pregnant.  At the same time I felt it was important to be as honest as possible with how I was doing because I felt that every woman has the right to hear the truth.

The good news is that not all women experience being sick to the same degree, some don't get sick at all! At ten weeks pregnant I despised these women and I if memory serves me correctly Luke had to practically restrain me from getting up and exploding at the TV screen while watching the movie What to Expect When You're Expecting I was so mad at the one lady who just breezed through pregnancy and labour - totally unfair. I've calmed down, I no longer detest these women, but I do think they're incredibly lucky.

The reason I write this post is that I hope it reaches other women who feel as alone as I originally did.  I hope that hearing they are not alone is a comfort and that they avoid the depression I went through. I realize now that my story is far more relatable than ever imagined and going through the experience gives a completely new and genuine sense of empathy. Perhaps it will be a comfort to current and future pregnant women to know that not only are they not alone in their pain, but even Kate Middleton has been affected by pregnancy.

Please continue on to read my next post Part 2: A Relatable Experience which is a story I wrote for expecting first time mothers and women who have been pregnant before. This story, while the names and slight details have been changed with some details added, is based on my first trimester and truly resembles my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. After this future posts will no longer reflect on my eighteen weeks of nausea as I wish to move ahead and focus on the present - which I am still thoroughly enjoying!

Thoughts and Feelings About Pregnancy

I'm now twenty-six weeks plus four days. This means that I'm nearly at the beginning of the third trimester. Apparently this is the trimester where I'll just get huge and can expect to be uncomfortable for the remainder of the pregnancy. This is a pity as I feel like I have only been able to enjoy my pregnancy for the past eight weeks. While I have had some minor discomforts I hope that the pleasure I'm currently experiencing lasts for a few more weeks to come. Perhaps this is wishful thinking, yet at this point I prefer to remain optimistic as not only do I enjoy myself but I've also been told that I've become much better company. I wasn't aware how depressing and moody I came across during the first half of pregnancy, as mentioned previously I had been nauseous and vomiting during this time, until afterwards when my sister told people I was grouchy. Even my grammy commented along with a sigh of relief,
"Oh honey, it sure is nice to see you smiling and hear you laughing again. No wonder I went on medication."

My belly at 26 weeks

My depressed state of mind is in the past and as stated earlier I am thoroughly enjoying being pregnant. I am even enjoying my changing body. I have received a few pregnancy emails encouraging me to appreciate my body and giving me tips on how to make my body look good. Yet I have felt no actual need for these words of affirmation. I feel good. This may have to do with the fact that while I still enjoy the pleasure of a chocolate bar, cookie or the odd donut, I'm pretty conscientious of the food I'm eating. I continue to make healthy choices such as fresh fruit and vegetables and avoiding processed goods. In addition, I finally have a gym membership and am attending aqua fit classes and either go for walks or bike rides on my own. (To be honest I've been sick for the past two weeks and this level of activity has nearly ceased, but the healthy eating remains). So, while there is a sick sluggishness that I'm looking forward to bringing an end to, overall I still feel good. While there are times I feel awkward, such as when I'm putting on underwear, pants, socks, or shoes, for the most part I feel beautiful. I'm enthralled with my growing belly. I could even say there are times I feel sexy. I know that may sound crazy and perhaps this feeling will fade as my belly continues to expand. For now I choose to bask in the feeling of beauty.

Lest some may think that all is grand and I have lost grasp of reality let me use this time as assurance that I haven't. While I'm enjoying this time in my pregnancy, I still wouldn't say that I love being pregnant. A couple of weeks ago I received an email with a diagram of a pregnant woman showing how much room the uterus and baby take up and how the organs have all been arranged in order to compensate: the rib cage has widened and expanded, the intestines have been pushed to the sides and the heart, lungs, liver and stomach have all been crammed up under the ribcage - my stomach is directly underneath my breast! No wonder my lung capacity has been reduced, that I feel like I've eaten a full turkey dinner after only a few mouthfuls, and why heartburn and indigestion are a constant companion.

Another odd thing I've noticed also has to do with digestion. Before pregnancy it was a rare occurrence for me to burp. I have a few cousins, including females, who can burp on command. I do not have that talent. Now that I'm pregnant though it seems like I'm constantly burping or farting. The other day I burped and told Luke that I produced it simply by pressing on my belly. I'm telling the truth. I recently read a book on surviving the first couple months with a newborn. One section talks about feeding and burping babies. The caution is to try and eliminate as much air intake as possible because if a baby gets air trapped in their system it only has two ways out: burping or farting and both are usually accompanied by a mess, not to mention that it causes great discomfort for the baby. I completely empathize. In fact, there are many times when I find myself trying to force a burp just to alleviate the discomfort. At times I've told my husband that I can literally feel the trapped air. I've even had him pat me on the back to try and get a burp out of me! A few nights ago I had my first experience of sleeping sitting up because it was the only relatively comfortable position as lying down seemed to be trapping air in my chest and it was painful. Seriously, I now understand the pleasant relief a baby gets from a burp.

Probably the most pain that I've been experiencing has to do with the stretching and separation of my lower abdominal muscles and ligaments in order to make room for my baby girl and of course for delivery later on. This is far from pleasant; I feel it when I stand up, when I sit down, when I get in and out of a vehicle and when I walk. Often I walk around with my hands underneath my belly trying to lift the weight and or pressing into the stretch in an attempt to alleviate the piercing sensation. I asked my midwife about it, and although it is only somewhat relieving to know, I have been assured that this is normal. Fantastic, I can expect this sharp but normal pain to persist.

Finally, there are the weepy hormones. For the most part I've been pretty good. It hit me yesterday. First I read a touching email regarding a little boy who wanted to give his mom a gift to give to his little sister in heaven after they were hit by a drunk driver - his sister died on impact and his mom was in critical condition. I bawled, but at least this story was somewhat understandably an emotional story. However, later on in the afternoon I watched an episode of "Bones" a forensic anthropology show, and all of a sudden the tears were running and pooling underneath my chin. Pregnancy hormones have claimed another victim.

After hearing all these things going on with my body a friend's husband asked,
"Why would anyone put themselves through this?" His voice conveyed an edge of near mortification. To be honest I may have held out a little longer if I had known the full extent to what I would have to go through. I naively thought that I had enough knowledge to prepare myself, that I would love being pregnant and the only really painful experience would be labour and delivery - but I was okay this and I trust my body to go through the motions. I have no idea how I'll actually act or handle labour, but I most definitely have been humbled in regards to pregnancy. There is nothing like actually going through the experience. No amount of knowledge or education can give you true understanding. You may be empathetic, but only the real deal can give you a true understanding of what other pregnant women are going through.

So, why would any woman in her right mind choose to put her body through this? For first time mothers it may well have to do with being naive and the desire to bring forth life. For myself I have always wanted to be a mom. I love kids: their innocence, their matter of fact point of view, their generosity, their their open arms and hearts, and their ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary (or simply what adults take for granted). Perhaps it's a selfish motive that I wanted to contribute and participate in a child's life, and not just any child but my child. Also, it may be really sentimental and romanticized but I still feel that creating life with my husband is a culmination of our love and commitment to each other. These are my reasons for choosing to put my body through this. I can't speak for other women nor can I speak for those who choose this again; I would venture to guess that it has to do with how truly amazing it is to be a parent and how much life a child brings and the love they add. For any mom willing to share I'd love to hear your insights.

Another question that could be asked is if I'm going through all these experiences that are far from pleasant then how can I say that I'm enjoying being pregnant? Personally it has to do with the feeling of awe that my body is in fact housing and creating life. This alone is amazing. Also, I'm not always in discomfort or pain. This is an experience like no other and for the most part it's exciting - especially when I feel my baby girl moving around or doing summersaults. I may not love being pregnant like I had imagined, but for what it represents and the fact that it truly is such a unique and personal experience I am enjoying it and I am enjoying my changing body. Of course, my attitude may be different the further into the third trimester I go. And so the journey continues.

26 weeks