When I was a little girl, pregnant women and babies fascinated me. When people asked me what I wanted to become, I would always answer that I wanted to become a midwife. I tried to imagine how it would be like to feel something growing inside me and how wonderful it must be to be able to hold and cuddle with a cute little baby all day long. Of course, I never really thought about the not so romantic aspects like labor pains, sleepless nights and changing nappies. When I grew up and went to school, it turned out that the only thing I was really good at was learning foreign languages. So, I decided that if I wanted fulfill my dream of getting pregnant and having a baby, I simply needed to find a good job, get married and the rest would follow…
It was 4 am in the morning on a Sunday in spring many years later that I did my first pregnancy test. Believe me, usually one test will do. I, however, didn’t believe the home pregnancy test, so when I saw a second blue stripe appear indicating that I was pregnant, I threw the test in the bin and bought a new one. Surprisingly, the second test showed me the same thing. It took me three walks to the pharmacy to finally believe that the tests were doing their jobs properly and that I was pregnant. In a slight panic I called my gynaecologist. I told him that I had done three tests that all showed two blue stripes and that I needed an appointment immediately. My doctor tried to calm me down and told me to come and see him in about four weeks. I thought he was joking. Four weeks? I couldn’t wait for four weeks. What if that living being growing inside me had only one arm or one leg? What if something else was wrong? I managed to persuade the doctor (or maybe he just got tired of me panicking at the phone…) and I got an appointment the next day. I must admit I was a bit disappointed to see that there was nothing to see except for a white spot in a black hole. That was it. The ultrasound showed nothing but a tiny white spot. Still, I felt happy that the tests had worked and that I didn’t have to buy another one. But I didn’t feel pregnant. That changed, though, sooner than I had hoped…
After about 4 weeks, I woke up one morning feeling miserable. Not just dizzy or sick, but really miserable. I tried to get up and go to the kitchen to fix some breakfast, but when I opened the fridge my stomach churned. I smelled things I had never ever smelled before in my whole life and they made me feel so sick that I ran to the toilet and tried to throw up, which didn’t work on an empty stomach. I made myself a cup of tea and ate a biscuit and made myself another cup of tea and ate another biscuit. This I continued until about noon when it was time to eat something warm. All the food that I found either tasted too spicy or smelled too strong. “Great”, I thought “so this is what being pregnant is like”. For the next six months, I tried to eat little bits throughout the day all the while fighting back the nausea. I vomited in the mornings, in the afternoons, in the evenings and at night.
I hated being pregnant. But I didn’t dare to tell anybody because pregnancy is something that a woman should enjoy. I didn’t enjoy it at all. I got literally sick and tired of being pregnant and I hadn’t even passed half of the 40 weeks. The nausea gradually disappeared after 6 months. My belly grew bigger and bigger and finally I began to enjoy carrying a baby around. The joy didn’t last very long. Sleeping became almost impossible. Anytime I wanted to rest, the baby would wake up and start kicking around. It felt like it had become bored of swimming and wanted to start playing with my intestines. Towards the end of the pregnancy the baby would poke his little fists against my bladder, making me have to run to the bathroom five times an hour.
In week 39, the baby was running out of room and I really wanted it to be born. I was tired of the swellings, the back and sciatic pains and the constant poking and kicking in my ribs. Giving birth is something that millions and millions of women before us have done, so I thought “no big deal, I can do this”. It started as ‘no big deal’, which was nice because it helped me stay optimistic. The pain was bearable so I started to think “why do all women always make such a fuss about it? This is sooo easy”. However, after about 15 hours it did become a big deal. The pains got worse and worse. After 20 hours, I thought I was going to die. Just when I thought I couldn’t go on any longer, my son was born. He was the most beautiful slimy and dirty newborn baby I had ever seen. He was even so much more beautiful after the midwife bathed him and handed him over to me. I immediately recognized him as my child because he looked like me and smelled like me.
The pregnancy had been very difficult and giving birth was…well…not a pleasure. But my tiny little baby was a gift, a miracle. He has changed my life in a way that is indescribable. Being a mother is a lot of work but it is beyond doubt also the most rewarding job ever.
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