When Pregnancy Isn't Beautiful

I love my children very much. They have given me a purpose and meaning to my life that I always sought. From the very first moment that I saw the word "pregnant" on the stick in the bathroom of my first apartment it was an instant change. Even with the swirling fear and panic that wrecked my body and mind there was a quiet voice that calmed me. It was a simple whisper of "You're a mom" and that's all I needed to do this. My vocation to be a mother is very precious to me and I would not trade it for the world. Pregnancy, however? I might trade that.

Every morning as I struggle out of bed and wince through the stabbing, piercing pain shooting through my pelvis I question everything. I wonder how many days can I possibly last. I wonder why I even wanted this and for heaven's sake even planned for it. I shake away the crazy thought that this isn't even the last time I'll endure such pain. I half walk, half fall into the bathroom and pee for the hundredth time. As I stand to wash my hands I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and I nearly break. There is no "glow" in the person staring back at me. All I see is tired eyes, a fat face and a body that I cannot recognize as mine. I force away the urge to cry and scream and walk out the door. I just tell myself I'm another day closer.

I go to work and I'm surrounded by women. Women in all stages of their lives. Women with brokenness enveloping them. Women with hopes and dreams as bright as the Arizona sun. Each and every one of them different from the next in lifestyle, circumstance and appearance. Yet all I see is beauty. All I see is potential and radiance. All I see is their God given dignity on display and I feel called to help them see it, too. But I can't find it within myself. I watch the pregnant mothers come and go with their perfect round bellies and no weight any where else and my heart just sinks. I can't compete and I never will.

For someone who has struggled with eating disorders and battled constantly with the person on the other side of the mirror, pregnancy is a nightmare. Stepping on the scale every month is torture. Getting dressed every morning and not finding anything that fits right is soul crushing. So many days I just want to disappear. I don't want another pair of eyes to see me. I don't want to face the world in this foreign body. As my child grows my body only gets wider. My face just gets rounder. My legs, feet and hands only swell more. There is nothing beautiful about it. It's just agonizing.

I get home from work and my two children swarm me. Starved for my attention they hug and kiss me and begin demanding I do this or give them that. I take my shoes off and reveal my balloons of feet and stumble to the dining room table. I just want to get undressed, eat and put my feet up. I feel like a bad mother because although I missed them, I just want them to go away. I want a second to catch my breath but it never comes. Even if I get the opportunity to lay down, I'm never alone. My son lays half sandwiched on the couch and half on me. My daughter dances around asking me to help her with her Harry Potter game or to tickle her and then I have my unborn son leaping in my womb trying to punch through the scar tissue of my gallbladder surgery. The contractions I've had off and on all day become stronger and more consistent and I wonder if this is it as I battle feelings of hope, fear and guilt of the prospect of having my son earlier. My maternal instinct wins over my selfishness to reclaim my body and I do what I can to calm myself down. Eventually night approaches and the chatter and energy filled chaos of my two children ceases and I have a minute alone. But at this point I just want to sleep myself and another night of tossing and turning as I'm squished between my husband and 5 year old ensues. Every turn I make I'm startled by the intense pains that shoot through my body. The urge to pee is ever constant but the struggle to get up is oh too real so I just beg sleep to take over. Sleep barely notices my pleas and most of the time the urge to pee wins. Morning comes and it's the same tape all over again. With bonus aches and pains added daily.

I don't like being pregnant. Even more so, I hate this particular pregnancy. My pregnancy isn't beautiful. It isn't flowery. It isn't what dreams are made of. It's hard. It's exhausting. It's painful. It's anxiety filled. It's humiliating.

But it's worth it. Isaac is worth it. He's worth my already delicate self esteem shattering with my pregnancy related body. He is worth every ache, pain and uncomfortable feeling. He is worth all the tears and instability caused by my hormones. He is worth every sleepless night and all the ones to come. He is my son and it is my privilege to grow him within me and I would do it all a hundred times over just to get to the end result of holding him one day in my arms.

And that, at least for me, is what makes pregnancy beautiful.