I am pregnant.
And, I am sad.
Don’t get me wrong, I know how fortunate I am to be able to get pregnant. Not a single day goes by that I don’t think about this and I am so thankful.
I want this baby. I do. But all of this, all of these feelings, are so hard for me to understand. And, even harder for me to feel.
I hate talking about how sad or down I get during pregnancy because OH MY GOD WOE IS ME! I know how many women, friends included, would kill to be pregnant. I should just shut up, suck it up, and enjoy every single moment.
I felt this way with my first pregnancy. But, it wasn’t until I delivered my sweet, sweet boy, that I realized how dark things had become. He came out and a light turned on somewhere in my head. Like this huge cloud, I didn’t even realize was hanging over me, was lifted.
And all of this, while I was taking an anti-depressant. Sigh.
I experienced pre-term contractions with my son and was basically stuck in bed for two months. Looking back, I attributed all of the negative emotions to being nervous about the baby and feeling so isolated.
Until now. Until this pregnancy.
I barely found out that I was pregnant and, already, the waves of yuck, sadness, and anxiety have taken over.
Thankfully, with my doctor’s support, I am still taking my little blue happy pill. I can’t imagine how I would deal without it.
But, this time around it’s harder. I have someone other than myself to think about. I need to be in a good place for my son. I don’t want to just go though the motions with him. But, for the past couple of weeks, it seems that’s all I’ve been doing.
I have a history of anxiety and the blues, and the pregnancy hormones make it so much worse. I feel like I am on the verge of a full on panic attack at any moment. Something I am feeling now, as I type these words. Ugh.
Before I was pregnant, I could reach for a cigarette or a drink to calm my nerves. Now that none of these things are an option, it makes me all the more anxious.
I debated sharing my pregnancy news so early.
I am still at the stage where every time I wipe after using the restroom, I hold my breath, slowly bring the toilet paper into view, and pray it’s not streaked with blood.
But, I need to be honest. Not only for myself, but for my son, my unborn baby, and my husband.
Not talking about it is only going to make it worse and make me feel more isolated.
I need to talk about it to keep me somewhat sane. And you know what? There is something very cathartic about screaming I FEEL CRAZY from the rooftops.
Don’t worry, you guys can put away the straight jackets, because I’ve also decided to see a professional.
As much as my husband wants to help me, he has no idea what to say. And, really, I have no idea what I need him to say.
I’ve also decided to get off my lazy butt and try some prenatal yoga. I mean, it can’t hurt. Not worse than this, anyways.
Finally, and this is where all you people who live in my computer come in, I am going to need lots of chocolate and lots of hugs. And foot rubs. Oh, yes, you will rub my feet.
I am looking forward to sharing this journey with you guys.
All of it.
Even when it’s not dressed up all nice and pretty.
(P.S. I haven’t pooped in a week and I am thinking this may be contributing to the sadness. Curse you, prenatal vitamins, curse you!)