Last night, not necessarily for the first time, I wondered if this whole pregnancy thing is worth it.
It was 1:30 in the morning and I was leaning over the toilet, having just spent 20 minutes throwing up everything I’d even thought about eating for the past 10 hours. My throat was raw, my mouth tasted sour, my nose was clogged with snot and worse, my ears were tearing, and I’d peed myself from the force of the vomit.
This is the scene I have repeated many many times during this pregnancy.
I am on zofran. I am on reglen. Even with these powerful anti-nausea drugs, I still puke at least once a week and usually 1-3. The scene always ends the same way…having pissed myself, hung over a toilet bowl or a sink, facing an orangey, yellowy disgusting second look at what I’d eaten.
Part of me knows that the me of 10 months ago would’ve sold her soul for a viable pregnancy. She would have hated me for questioning if this was really meant to be and I really wanted it *this* badly.
But it wears on you. The exhaustion. The sciatic pain. The round ligament pain. The sour taste in your mouth. Having to watch your blood sugar, to give yourself insulin. The discomfort. Never laying on your back anymore. Barely managing to lay on your stomach. The constant exhaustion.
If I had been able to see in to the future, would I have done this?
I guess it depends on how far I could’ve seen. Right now my Emby is still a fairly abstract concept to me. It’s hard to imagine a little girl in my arms. So the pain and the exhaustion and the puking seem like a pretty crappy trade off.
But one day I’ll say it was worth it…