I have a confession. A confession that I think I will get judged for, a confession that leaves me feeling guilty. I have mum guilt, really bad, anxiety crippling, knots in your stomach, mum guilt because, I hate being pregnant. I feel selfish saying it, ungrateful, or cruel but it is the truth. There are 6ish weeks until my due date and I am honestly counting down the days, minutes and hours until its over.
Now before you stop reading, there are somethings you need to understand. I am grateful, so grateful and happy and thankful to be pregnant. I love the baby that is growing in my stomach. I am over the moon that we have another little rainbow, and that Emily is going to be a big sister – I suppose that’s why I feel so guilty for feeling this way.
It’s just I’m so tired, and so sick. I hate the sound of my own voice now, because I feel like all I do is complain. I try to stay positive and sweep it under the carpet, carry on for Sam’s sake, for Emily’s sake too, although the truth is I just feel like I can’t anymore.
I lay awake at night, constantly struggling to fall asleep because I know I’m going to have to get up 5-6 times to be sick. That’s the reality of it. My throat burns from all the vomiting, my eyes sting because I’m tired, and I can’t stop crying. I’m moody in the morning because my toddler is waking up at 8am, and I’ve barely had 3 hours sleep. Then I feel guilty for being moody. It’s a vicious circle.
I’m fed up of being miserable, and boring, and unable to do normal day to day things. I’m fed up of not being able to go out whenever I want, or just popping to the park with Emily, because I’m so scared of being sick. I’m scared of food, because I know that I am just going to throw it back up again – so then I’m left wondering what the actual point is? Nothing tastes the same anyway.
If we decide to brave it at the weekend and go out, which is what I want to do, as I want to enjoy the time we have left as a family of three before our baby girl is here and suddenly everything will change for Emily. I know full well I am going to pay for it for the next few days. I feel exhausted, I then find myself being moody, and sick more. I just want to lock myself away in my bedroom and not speak to anyone because I’m so scared of saying something that I don’t actually mean. I know I’m going to end up with a headache that doesn’t leave me alone for a good few days. I know I’m going to feel like I’m not being completely present and there for Emily, which then leads to more mum guilt, which is closely followed by anxiety.
I’m fed up of saying ‘yeah I’m fine’ when really I’m not. The thing is unless you have experienced hyperemesis it’s so hard to understand. I get that people want to be sympathetic, or help, but I swear if I hear ‘don’t worry, there isn’t much longer left now’ once more I will scream. Do you know how infuriating that is?
This has been my life for 33 weeks now, 33 weeks of tears, vomit, and guilt. 33 weeks of listening to people tell me all about their lovely ginger remedies that fixed everything for them, or how they had ‘morning sickness too’. 33 weeks of waiting for it to pass. Knowing that there is nothing more that my GP can do for me. I have been admitted to hospital countless times, each time hooked up to a drip, wishing I was at home in my own bed, as I know I am going to end up back here in a few days, or weeks. I lay there clinging onto the words of the GP… ‘it will pass’ but what happens when it doesn’t? Which it hasn’t for me.
I get that people are not trying to be hurtful, they are just trying to sympathise but the reality is, I don’t have the patience anymore. They don’t know what to say, and don’t understand just how much it is effecting me. Is It my fault? Would they understand more if I told them just how many times I’m sick in a day? That I’m sick so much that it’s now become my new normal? That I’m sick so much that I’ve lost 3.5 stone and now there is concerns about my baby’s growth.
Concerns that I feel are created by me. Growth problems because I can’t stop being sick, because I’m not eating enough and she isn’t getting enough. That the anti-sickness medication that was once working doesn’t anymore, and I don’t have the ability or will power to keep trying different ones every other week.
I hate being pregnant. I hate being sick. I hate being scared to be left alone with my toddler, encase I have a bad day, and spend the day unable to do things that she asks, because I’m being so sick. Which does happen often. I hate that our new normal is movie days on the sofa because that is all I have the energy for.
I hate that my toddler knows what is going on, that she comes and sits on the bathroom floor with me, rubbing my back telling me that it is ok. She is 2 years old. She shouldn’t be doing that at this age. It’s not her job. It’s my job to look after her, not the other way around. I have cried for hours and hours when she’s in bed because I feel so guilty, so guilty that I’m not stronger, or better. So guilty that she has to deal with the sickness just like I do. Guilty that our home feels more like a prison because we can barely go out anymore.
I feel like I can’t complain about how awful this pregnancy is because I know how lucky I am to be growing a baby. Especially when we have experienced 4 heart breaking, earth shattering losses.
I know I chose to be pregnant, and I am lucky, but it is so hard to stay positive, when you feel like it is never going to end. You can’t just turn the sickness off. There isn’t a moment of calm, or peace. Not one second where the sickness subsides, even when I’m asleep I wake up to be sick, or beg Sam not to move in our bed as he is making me feel sick.
I hate the fact my stomach hurts so much, I constantly worry about hurting the baby because I am wrenching so much. I hate that I have managed to pull all the muscles in my stomach by being sick so much, it now means I can’t pick my toddler up.
I hate hyperemesis. I hate that it’s stole my pregnancy. I hate anxiety. I hate pregnancy. I can’t wait for it to be over and I feel guilty for feeling that way. I’m just so fed up of struggling.