I thought I’d start a little diary to chronicle my thoughts about what will *probably* be my last pregnancy. To say my emotions have been all over the place recently is an understatement. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde are in a boxing match inside my brain and both refuse to admit defeat. Some days I’m positive, productive, and feel like I’m kicking ass. Others (like yesterday), I’m exhausted, nauseated and I amble around aimlessly blaming my husband for getting me into this mess. 

In general, I find pregnancy to be very destabilizing. I feel like I’m in some sort of holding pattern, waiting, with no idea what the future looks like. Will my baby be healthy? Will I struggle with postpartum? How will I manage breastfeeding? How will my other children adjust? Will I lose myself? So many questions that I am unable to answer. I desperately want to be the earth mother who embraces the magic of the unknown, but it’s just not me. I like certainty. I like feeling in control of my body. I like knowing what will happen next week, next month, and even next year. Since it’s my third go around, everything is a little more familiar, and I have the added benefit of knowing the joy that follows on the other side. It just seems so. damn. far. away. 

This also brings my old friend guilt to the party. ‘SHUT UP AND BE GRATEFUL, CLAIRE! So many people aren’t able to have children!! You don’t even have Hyperemesis! You don’t have to show up to an office and work a 70-hour week! What have you got to complain about?!’ (This voice, if you couldn’t tell, likes to yell.) And honestly, it’s got valid points. Aside from my first heartbreaking loss, I am extremely lucky as far as fertility goes. Sure, I had a rough first trimester, but I’m not throwing up daily for nine months straight. Yes, I work, but I can adjust my hours and workload depending on how I’m feeling. It makes the dark feelings much harder to process. I find it difficult to have grace for myself. 

I know that I’m growing a bunch of organs right now, but for some reason I feel ‘less than.' My body can’t do all the things it normally does, and I’ve realized that my physicality is a big part of my identity. Instead of sitting back, relaxing, and letting Andy rub my feet, I get annoyed. ‘This time last year I was running 13 miles,’ I think to myself as I shove another cookie down my throat. Whyyyyy. It’s so unhelpful and yet I still get stuck in the mindtrap. I’m sure some of it has to do with hormones, as I’m usually pretty good at pulling myself out of a funk, but lately it seems to require so much more effort. 

And don’t even get me started on the weight gain. A vitally important part of the development of a healthy child. Crucial. I know this, yet it still feels hard. I struggled with disordered eating in my late teens and early 20’s (I once had a director tell me that if I lost 5 lbs from each leg, I’d book more jobs), so it’s a fairly sensitive topic for me. I’ve done so much work on myself and feel that in general, I have an incredibly healthy mindset when it comes to body image. However, the negative thoughts still arise at times when I see my body expanding in a way that doesn’t feel comfortable. I’ve gained around 12 lbs so far (at 18 weeks), but 8 of them have been in the last month. If I keep this pace up I’m staring down the barrel of a lot more lbs than the recommended amount, which isn’t ideal. I’d probably struggle if my doctor told me to slow my roll. I try to stay positive and grateful that I’m able to carry a child, but it’s another part of pregnancy that feels like it requires a huge amount of mental effort. 

Something that I’ve found to be helpful is training myself to think like my kids. Whenever they have to step on the scale for the doctor, they’re thrilled with whatever number they see. ‘I’m growing, Mama!!’ they screech with delight. How cool is that? They have no concept of being ‘fat’ or ‘thin.’ Too big or too small. They just know the importance of eating so that their brains, and little bodies can grow. I’m trying to live like that. ‘I’m growing,’ I tell myself as the number creeps higher. ‘My baby’s brain and little body is getting bigger and stronger,’ I repeat over and over. 

I sound kind of doom and gloom, which is not at all how I want to be, but I think it’s important to share the honest side of this journey. Motherhood is by far the most spectacular thing that I’ve ever experienced, but that doesn’t mean that parts of it aren’t hard. I know that it will all be worth it. I know that when this little guy flies out I’ll sob with relief, gratitude, and jubilation. I know how lucky I am. I also know that if I stuff my feelings down in my guts and refuse to acknowledge them, they’ll erupt in some other way that is likely to be far more damaging. So here I am, spewing them out on the page to you guys. Thank you for all your comments of support and encouragement. You truly make me feel less alone. 

Claire x