I’ve been meaning to write this post for a long time… say 9 months? And yet, life got in the way, life you say? Oh yes indeed-ly.
This time around I am not only fermenting a human (who says cooking or baking is the right verb for what is happening inside my uterus? With the amount of movement, gas, discomfort, and simple havoc that colludes within me). So yes this post was supposed to be about the differences I am finding in fermenting this second human vis-à-vis the first time around (less than two years ago!). and yet it has taken me so long to write…
But I’ve been busy… what have I been doing?
Well, we moved, countries! Yes, we are now quite happily in Canada where law and order are more of a reality than a fiction (impossible to not get even the tiniest bit political nowadays); I’ve been chasing a toddler around (that Dragon is as delicious as ever, and truly believes walking is overrated, so chasing is a lose term for crawling after her and carrying her places); I’ve been finding my community in this fantastic city; I’ve also been training to become a Health Coach… but of that, later.
So, in short, so much to do and so little time… and this post, well, I need to get it out of the way before I can post on other things that have been plaguing my soul…
what makes this pregnancy different from the other? Well, I guess the lack of disappointment. Seriously. I make healthy babies (thankfully), but my body does take a beating in this fermentation process.
The first time around I had only heard stories of how wonderful it was to be pregnant (from my mom, my mother in law, friends, cousins…) and then suddenly: I was miserable. Beyond miserable. I was in constant pain. And constipated. And gassy. And in oh so much pain. And insomniac. And nightmares galore. And my abs were breaking, and my skin was not looking too good and my weight was expanding, and my muscular self was disappearing, and, and, and…
I had pictured myself being this perfect pregnant lady who continues working out until basically the day she gives birth. I had pictured myself doing yoga and breathing and being in this fantasyland of baby production where all is good and happy and joyful and painless… (nobody ever told me making babies is so painful).
This fiction was mostly created by the fact that I had never heard a woman complain about pregnancy…
And then I was. Utterly, completely, absolutely wretched. Because I was so miserable, and suddenly the whispers and sighs were there. They existed, if only you heard them, if only you asked… if only women spoke.
So this time around, no more disappointment. I knew I was miserable the first time around, I pretty much knew I would be miserable the second.
I did not get the “forgetting hormone” (even if I didn’t remember just how much I hate fermenting humans); I got the “it’s worth it” hormone. I love my child. I love my dragons.
Do I wish this second time I would have been pleasantly surprised by comfort? Absolutely. But hey, since my expectations were so low, we can only go up from here, right..?