Motherhood: Pregnancy part one

My first trimester was erm, colourful. I somehow managed to bypass all of the dreadful physical symptoms (praise be); however, I did suffer from an intense shift hormonally. If any of you reading this came into direct contact with first trimester Amy, she'd like you to know that she sends her deepest sympathy's, but has no interest in taking ownership of her wrongdoings. All of a sudden, 'jokes' were a thing of the past. Rationality became this foreign concept, a word I no longer knew how to pronounce (is it ray- shone- arlity? rash-own- a-tilly? no idea, sorry). I'd purposely bring the vibe down if I were with a group of people. They probably didn't even know I was pregnant - but still, how dare you all be emotionally stable right now? Don't get me wrong, I was self-aware. I could tell that I was behaving unreasonably 90% of the time - I just couldn't give a flying fuck. I lived in that delightful state for around two months, where all I wanted to do was eat black olives, cry, complain, and alienate people. Let's just say it wasn't a fun time for anyone.

Photo: April or May 2018 , early pregnancy.

I think I slowly became more human after what I like to call my 'Shrek phase.' The phase consisted of a minor breakdown, gallons of water, and everything Shrek related. It spanned over 3 chaotic days, as not only did I watch the films one, two, and three; I also watched all the specials, shorts, and spin-offs. I watched puss in boots, I headed over to youtube to watch creepy fan videos and the 'hidden movie mistakes.' I googled how much tickets were for London's Shrek's Adventure! Yeah, it got out of hand. In hindsight, I can joke about my Shrek phase, but at the time, it was worrying. My boyfriend was extremely concerned, My mum actually didn't know I was pregnant, just that I would call her in tears (Shrek the third blaring in the background). I didn't eat much, I slept cat-nap style. I remember feeling a tremendous amount of guilt and shame for the way I acted when I was uncertain, and for being uncertain in the first place. If I were to psychoanalyse it (being the noted psychologist that I am), I'd say I liked the fairytale. I needed to revel in ridiculousness; life was too real. I liked the idea that there was somewhere far far away - where everything had a happy ending and donkeys and dragons could have kids. Or I just found it funny, who knows.   

I'd have moments where I'd pause the films, and sit quietly in despair. I'd think about what people would say about me and how my family was going to react. I wondered if I'd get to finish university or if the last 3 years were just a waste of time and money. I kept thinking about my mothering capabilities and ways to make money FAST. My brain was overloaded, swirling with questions and hypotheticals, bubbling to the brim, and spilling out of me. It was time to tell my mum. 

My mum had me at 39. She had her career, she had her savings, she had her house. She planned me and subsequently planned my life (hah). Telling her terrified me, but to my surprise - she met me with nothing but support and positivity. Realistically, we all know she was disappointed, but being there for me took precedence over that at the time. It was clear to me that she knew she was all I had. And in knowing that she exceeded all my expectations. The phone call started off with one of those snotty, incomprehensible cries where she had to guess every word I was trying to say, but it ended with a laughter sob. I hung up with my heart full of optimism and reassurance, which I am forever grateful for. 

Photo: mama and I, early 2000’s.

At the beginning of month 4, I felt immense peace. I no longer needed to fight. I practiced yoga and began mind over mattering. I put my negative early pregnancy experience down to circumstance, coming to terms with my decision and figuring out how to handle my guilt (still a challenge). Connecting with people who uplifted me and squashed my irrational doubts, made all the difference. I know everyone says this, so its cliché or whatever, but those who mattered really made themselves evident. I'm glad that happened sooner rather than later.

Photo: summer 2018, mid pregnancy

Despite all of this, I still suffered from guilt. It got to the point where I sought external help as my midwife was just not cutting it. When I mentioned my severe guilty feelings, she'd nod and shrug, literally, shrug. Sometimes she'd say that my guilt stemmed from caring so much about my baby, and that's all a baby needed (a mum who cares), etc. I know this was an attempt to make me feel better, but it wasn't enough. This couldn't just be classic mum guilt. I'd wake up drenched in sweat after dreaming that I was putting my baby in jeopardy. They ranged from me doing somersaults on a trampoline, vigorously bouncing around, my whole body contorted, to dreams of having a 2-day bender drinking copious amount of alcohol and club hopping. Sometimes these dreams were so realistic that it would take me a while to reconfigure when I woke up, as in, I’d wake up like 'wtf did I do yesterday,' my heart pounding, on the brink of tears. Sometimes I'd wake up in the dreams, still pregnant and feeling guilty all over again. I couldn't escape it. I'd have some days where I'd just cry, desperate for the crippling guilt to leave me alone. My local pregnancy mental health team was ok, they tried, I guess. I saw them twice. The most useful resource I got was a signs and symptoms booklet for pre-natal and post-natal mental illnesses. It was so strange that l could be so content and in love with my growing belly (I cried happy tears at every scan without fail) while having a mind intent on making me feel undeserving.

I paused my studying and took time off work. I needed to stop spiralling for the sake of my mental health and to ensure a healthy pregnancy. I can't exactly give you the cure or pinpoint a coping method, It became more manageable as time went on. I tried to train my brain to be more positive and combat negative thoughts with a beautiful thought like a game of ping pong. It helped. But guilt still brushes past me some days. It sits with me, threatens to take me back to where I once was. It looks me in the eyes and asks me, are you scared? And right now, I'm ok with that. Because the answer is no.