Before I got pregnant, I promised myself that I would try my hardest to not complain when pregnancy symptoms were difficult.
It was always a bit off-putting to me whenever I'd hear a pregnant women talk about about how hard it is to be pregnant. The nausea, vomiting, fatigue, aches and pains, multiple night-time potty breaks, difficulty sleeping. On and on.
Sometimes I wanted to just interrupt their little rant, grab them by the collar, and loudly (but lovingly) remind them that they were so lucky. They were pregnant! They were experiencing one of the greatest blessings and miracles ever! So all that other stuff that's hard??...Deal with it and be grateful you have the opportunity to deal with it!
(How thoughtful of me, right?)
Then I got pregnant.
Immediately, I started letting people know, whether they asked or not, that I was pretty tired that day, had a headache, or an upset stomach.
Thankfully, I soon realized what I was doing and that I was doing it largely just because I could.
It felt like a right of passage to be able to complain about pregnancy symptoms. Like it made the pregnancy experience more "real" or something.
There is a balance that's been important for me to try to find during this pregnancy.
I want to be genuine and grateful at the same time.
And I'm still working on it.
When people ask how I'm feeling, I don't want to be fake and say, "wonderful!" when that isn't the case.
At the same time, I don't want to jump on the fuss buss either. Because, when it really comes down to it, I am doing wonderfully, regardless of how I'm feeling physically.
How could seeing my tummy grow not be wonderful? How could getting to spend time with little cryings every day, just me and her, not be wonderful? How could feeling my little girl punch/kick back in response to my nudges not be wonderful? How could brainstorming names, decorating a nursery, and tiny baby jammies not be wonderful?
It is wonderful. So wonderful.
So there are hard days.
Days where walking from the living room to bedroom is so painful I just want to lay down and cry.
Or when putting on my shoes, or standing up from a chair, or rolling over in bed at night requires gritting my teeth and pushing through the pain every. single. time.
And then we have to cancel our much-anticipated trip to New York in March because of how hard it is for me to walk.
That hard stuff is all real, too.
But it's not what's most important.
What's most important is that it's worth it.