One thing I believe every mother can agree on is how much men just don't get it. The havoc creating life can wreak on a woman's body is mind boggling and miraculous. But when you're in the throes of it, it only feels like tourcher.
I've never pretended to be an easy person to get along with. I'm highly emotional even during the calmest times in my life. I wear my heart on my sleeve and analyze even the smallest statements directed towards me. It's not something I'm necessarily proud of, but it is something I've accepted about myself. I feel too much.
At this point you would think my husband halfway knows what to expect. For the most part I guess he does, but it's a very superficial type of understanding because he just can't wrap his brain around the amount of work my motionless body is doing. He doesn't understand why I can't just suck it up and push myself to get things done that need to be done.
Maybe I've spoiled him? Or maybe he's just as stressed out as I am?
I wish like hell I could stomach standing at the kitchen sink long enough to tackle the foul smelling collection of dishes that have piled up over the last few days, but I just can't. I wish I could cook a fabulous supper and enjoy the one moment of the day where my family is all together, but I just can't. My stomach won't allow it. My energy won't cooperate. My body hates me right now because it's focus is where it should be: On creating new life. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow is as good a day as any for me to have a "good" day. My body may decide to loosen the metaphorical umbilical cord and allow me a few gulps of fresh air.
This isn't a post to bash my husband nor one to write my pregnant self a pass. It is to acknowledge that right now I'm a barely functioning, hormonal nightmare; and my poor husband reacts accordingly because he gets the shittiest end of all of it.
We have gone through a lot in our six short years together. Seven pregnancies, 3 miscarriages, relocation, estrangement, death, financial hardship, everyday stress. Our marriage isn't perfect. Thankfully, neither of us expect it to be.
When I break down crying because he hurt my feelings he's rightfully confused. He didn't really even say much of anything, but I read between the lines and forgot to cut him some slack. He can't fix what's going on with me right now and it bothers him. I'm his wife. I can tell.
When my emotions are too much for him he snaps. He looked at me the other day and point blank to my face said "I hate you when you're pregnant." I won't act like it didn't cut me deep. Because it did. More so than any other thing he has ever said to me. But I've thought about it a lot and I realize I hate me when I'm pregnant too.
Whoever thinks pregnancy is some marvelous experience that opens you up to how strong and amazing you truly are has clearly only been pregnant once or twice. Or is some freak of nature that never experienced the real "joys" of pregnancy like morning sickness, sheer and utter exhaustion, and mood swings from hell to name a few. Don't get me wrong. Having a baby truly is a gift from God, and the good parts always outweigh the bad otherwise why would I put myself through this for the umpteenth time?
I can only speak from my experience and I'm just not a nice person during this time.
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