I’m in my 40’s and I’ve been rudely awoken to what it means to be pregnant. Beautiful stories of peace and serenity are just sickly sweet words tripped out by would be earth mothers afraid of admitting they aren’t prefect.
I’ve not been sick so I can’t blame nausea, my boobs hurt and my stomach feels like it has needles stuck in it – but that’s not the problem because apparently that is down to the 800gms of progesterone I’m inserting into my body everyday.
No, the problem is anger, the problem is I feel trapped, the problem is I don’t know who I am and I’m only three weeks into the whole thing.
You see I’m an IVF’er so I know exactly when I conceived – I’ve been counting the days to see if the embryos embedded. I’ve undergone an awful lot of indignity leading up to this momentous occasion – which I’ll save for another time as I’m just not ready to relive the physical pain and emotional rollercoaster just yet. So I should be ecstatic, I should be joyous and exalted.
But you know what, I am and I’m not – I just can’t get past this feeling that I am now beholden, not only to this little thing growing inside me who I must and want to look after at all costs, – but to the father of this little thing. I’m terrified I’m never going to live the life I want to live, that I am now stuck, shortly to be financially dependent – and at the whim of his decision making, or not. It is scary, it feels like I am being transported back into the 1950s and I’m not sure I’m dealing with it at all well!