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Writer's pictureMaia Mothers LLC

Secret Napping and Other Stories | Why the First Trimester Really Fucking Sucks


I know, pregnancy is a blissful time full of magic and transformation and hope and life.

I know because other people have told me so. Mostly strangers.

In my experience, however, (and I have been pregnant a total of 7 times, so I’ve got some miles under my stretch belt) pregnancy really. fucking. sucks.


Let’s start with the first trimester. For one, you have recently learned that your body, your life, and probably your lifestyle and relationships are about to change dramatically. Whether you’ve been trying for years or this is a spontaneous surprise or it’s your 4th baby, babies are changemakers.


On top of that emotional brain teaser, all kinds of other stuff happens to you. Here is a non-exhaustive list of some of the bullshit that is considered “normal” during your first trimester:

  • Fatigue

  • Tender boobs

  • Nausea

  • Tiredness

  • Nausea + vomiting

  • Swelling boobs

  • Exhaustion

  • Crying during commercials

  • Hating the world

  • Cramping (especially after sex)

  • Unreasonable need to pee all the time

  • Food aversion

  • Hating of partner

  • Constipation

  • Yelling at partner

  • Nasal Congestion (no joke)

  • Crying at partner

  • Headaches

  • Cravings

  • Desperate desire to nap


I know, fatigue, exhaustion, tiredness, napping - all the same. But pregnancy makes me really fucking tired.


Also, a lot of those get lumped into “mood swings” but that bullshit does not begin to cover it. I find that there are moods that are much more likely to get swung into, like: really-fucking-pissed-off-at-everyone mood or want-to-cry-all-the-time-for-no-reason mood, and some moods that are unlikely, like blissfully-happy-and-in-love-with-life mood.


The multiplying coefficient is secrecy. The whole “don’t tell anyone until you’re past 12 weeks” problem. And it is a big fucking problem. What’s the good of feeling like shit if you can’t complain to anyone?!


This is totally a personal choice, and the idea is don’t tell someone that you’re pregnant unless you’re also willing to tell them that you miscarried. This puts a bit of a damper on things, especially if you’re in that been-trying-forever-so-fucking-happy bucket.


To help a little with the largeness of that decision, I’m going to share my own personal experience of hiding vs. telling about my pregnancies and what I’ve learned.


Pregnancy 1: We had only been trying for a couple of months and I was super excited. I was also a bit smug about my badass body being all fertile and stuff. I had been told that I should wait, but we had a family get together with both my parents and my in-laws around 8 weeks, and I was like, ‘hey, it’s been a couple months, things are looking good, let’s go for it, I'd much rather tell them in person!’ It’s also a pain in the ass to keep it a secret. So I spread the joy and watched my mother-in-law run laps around the house in pure excitement of her pending grandmother state. And then I miscarried at 10 weeks.


Even though I have now given her 3 grand babies, I am still devastated that I had to take that away from her.


So add to that list of pregnancy bummers:

  • Constantly terrified of miscarrying (me)

Fast-forward to pregnancy 7:  I’ve now got two kids and as I mentioned I get deathly exhausted while I’m pregnant. Because of pregnancy 1, I’m still not telling anyone that I’m pregnant, despite the fact that nosy friends and brothers notice if the beverage I’m drinking is a different shade than their margarita. And despite my duplicitous belly, which pops immediately and enthusiastically. Seriously, I was getting congratulated by strangers days after my positive pregnancy test. And then finally, after all 12 weeks, I tell people and I wonder why I didn’t before. I have friends who could have supported me and helped to make it easier for me. And, after 4 miscarriages, I know that it’s better to have people who love and care about you there to support you. It’s an awful thing to try to do alone.


This is my small bit of advice: tell the people who will be there to support you no matter what and who won’t share with others. Because pregnancy sucks, and friends make it better.


Miscarriage is is hard for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that it feels like you fucked up. Some of that is human nature and a lot of that is because we don’t talk about it, and that’s part of why I wanted to share some of my own experience.


I know that some of this is scary and I don’t want you to come out of it believing that pregnancy is horrible and we should start growing babies in labs. I want to affirm that the struggle is real. We’re surrounded by media that makes all of motherhood out to be blissful and wonderful, but the consequence of this is that the real journey feels wrong.


Your journey of struggle and pain and emotional upheaval is more beautiful than any basic bliss narrative. It makes you strong, it makes you wise and it makes you more. The good things in life don’t come easy. The triumph of making it through should be that much sweeter than if you just sailed your way through pregnancy with sparkles and rainbows and heart hands.


Take pride in your resilience. Take pride in your body. Take pride in your strength. You are a badass.


 

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