On pregnancy...
My musings as a new mom (Part 1)
When I was considering what I wanted to begin to write about, my mind went first to motherhood. I have decided I want to split up my journey through motherhood into (tentative) parts. Pregnancy, birth, the trenches (0-3 months), the 1st year… and potentially more, depending on how motivated I am to continue.
Full disclosure, I am very very bad about starting things and not finishing them, and after I turned 30, that has only worsened. I must admit that the most egregious habit I have picked up is half-finishing movies or books. My husband was very excited that agreed to read I’m Starting to Worry About This Black Box of Doom… I liked it well enough, but things distracted me, and it is currently sitting in my bedroom with a bookmark on page 112, as it has for at least 6 months. My defense when my husband mentioned me finishing it?
“Well, I got the idea, ya know?”
He stalled for a moment and then threw up his arms, yelling, “No! That is literally the point of the book! Finding out what is in the box!” I digress…
I decided to write about motherhood for multiple reasons, the main one being… well… it is my life right now. There are so many things pre-motherhood me would have scoffed at, and this is one of them. But my identity right now I would say is that of “mama” (as my friend Emily and I call each other in a half affectionate and half mocking manner). I know it is annoying, I said it would never happen to me… I have a masters degree, I have hobbies, yadda yadda. I imagined all of my identities, mother, daughter, wife, OT, artist sitting perfectly in my hand like a dealing of cards. Instead, they are a deck and the top card is currently “mama”.
But you know what? I love it. My son is my primary responsibility right now and I have learned to embrace it and enjoy the (bumpy) ride. Let this blog serve as potential screaming into the void/archive of my ramblings OR potentially a source of reflective information and solace for the stray pregnant woman or mom of 6! Because if there is one thing I have appreciated on this journey, it is reading a woman’s post about exhaustion, anxiety, identity loss, etc. and thinking to myself,
“Shit. I thought I was the only one.”
But where were we? Pregnancy. So much of what I thought pregnancy would be… it wasn’t. Surprisingly, the physical aspect was not so bad for me (Okay don’t click away ladies that had a terrible physical experience… don’t worry, it all balances out later, I get my suffering comeuppance.) The worst of my symptoms was some nausea on our trip to Disneyworld. I had to skip the new Guardians of the Galaxy ride and rides like Tower of Terror, and there were many goodies I did not feel like eating. My relatively small bump helped with the mobility aspect, and so I was able to work until just about 2 weeks before my due date, lifting patients legs and pushing their wheelchairs in the tiny outpatient lymphedema clinic I worked in at the time with very little issue.
The mental side of pregnancy was another story. Almost every “fun” aspect of pregnancy I made very unfun with my anxiety. Cute recorded video of me surprising my husband? Nope. I woke him up early one Saturday immediately after I found out, poor guy. Again, cute gender reveal where we maybe buy a pink or blue filled cupcake? Nope. Open my phone at work for the genetic and gender results as I wanted to know ASAP of any genetic anomalies. Then, “reveal” the results to my husband with us sitting outside on our porch. See where this is going? Did you know there is such a thing prepartum anxiety? I didn’t, but I found out.
One of my favorite parts of pregnancy was planning my son’s nursery. One day in particular was particularly memorable. I was alone, putting some piece of furniture together and listening to one of Jenny Nicholson’s hilarious YouTube videos. Assembling all of the details was so fun, picking calming colors, bringing it all together and just imagining this little person who would be entering our lives. He would be living with us every day and introducing his own preferences, interests, habits… and we had not even met this person yet! Would he be more like me or more like my husband, or unlike either of us all together? This day, the prospect felt like an adventure to unfold rather than an anxiety to unwrap, and I was happy. I have included some pictures of his nursery for the full effect.
The most significant thing I learned while pregnant is that, for some inexplicable reason, certain members of society lose 50% of their prefrontal cortex function in the presence of a pregnant woman. If you are considering being pregnant, get ready for some of the most unhinged things you will ever hear from strangers. Some of my favorites, starting innocently enough and escalating in severity (Most of these humorous exchanges happened in the context of outpatient lymphedema treatment, I am an OT and CLT, so most of my patients I would treat for 80 minutes 3x/week):
Walking through the clinic waiting room on my way to schedule a patient. From behind me I hear: “You havin’ a boy.” Not a greeting. Not a question. Not my patient. A statement of fact. I turn around. “Are you… talking to me?” I say sheepishly. “Yep. And you havin’ a boy. He’s sitting low.” She looked forward again as if that was the end of that conversation.
Again, at the clinic I was working at, this time, in a treatment room with a patient. This patient was actually one of my favorite types of patients. Very type A, followed my recommendations well, very talkative so I did not have to worry about initiating conversation topics often, and her husband would always sit in the family/guest chair and never say a word, except to recall a word or factoid she could not recall. They were typically very sweet, and even compiled a list of old movies I simply had to check out. However, during one afternoon session, I mentioned how I had gone out to lunch with my coworkers. She brightened, and said “Well? Did you get a drink?” I paused. A drink? I simply figured she had forgotten, as again, my belly at the time was pretty not pronounced, so I gestured down and gently reminded her. “Ohhh yes, your generation does do things a bit differently huh,” she sighed wistfully. She did remember I was pregnant and apparently fondly recalled when women could drink while pregnant. Righto.
Another treatment session. Maybe the trick is to just avoid working in healthcare? This patient was also sweet, less compliant with her exercises and compression garments, but that is typical of lymphedema treatment. We had been talking about my pregnancy (of course), and she says “Well you should definitely not get an epidural.” This is also quite a common topic people tend to bring up with expecting mothers unprompted that vexes me—the type of pain interventions she should have. I looked at her curiously. “Did you?” She stuttered, “Well…I’ve never had children but that is what I have heard…” Curious.
This next patient was a doozy from the beginning. Very swollen legs, very pain addled, and very angry. It was one of the only evaluations I ever considered walking out of, he was extremely uncooperative and rude. He voiced that he highly doubted whether we could be of any help to him. Regardless, I explained the methods in which we could assist him in reducing his swelling, increasing his mobility, and (likely) reducing his pain, as we have countless other patients. His demeanor changed, and he unfortunately agreed to be scheduled for treatment. I went to the scheduler and explicitly told her “put him on my schedule only” to save my coworkers from his ire. After weeks of treatment however, I had learned his preferences and his personality, and to not take it personally. His rude and angry behaviors decreased, and started to morph into a friendly uncle sort of dynamic, which was much preferred. However, on one day, that came to haunt me. As I was preparing my materials to bandage his legs (lotion, tape, scissors, bandages, foam, etc.), he says “You know you’re gunna have a boy, right?” I sigh, not this again. Regrettably I ask how he knows that. “Because you have birthing hips.” At this point, I have the dynamic with this man that I go ahead and say, now why would you say that, that is just not called for. Moreover, I question his logic, as female infants also have to pass through the birth canal. If I remember correctly it basically boiled down to his assumption that male babies are larger (not always the case), and that he did not mean to offend me. I let the conversation end there.
I was undecided if I should even include this last unhinged pregnancy comment. But 1) it is funny to me in retrospect, and 2) I do not want to forget it, and I quite like that these posts may serve as a method of remembering the small details years down the road. Adam and I agreed to meet a few of his coworkers at a bar in downtown Argenta. At this point, I was probably 7 or 8 months pregnant, and felt a bit out of place at a bar. When were arrived, some of Adam’s coworkers were already a few (more than a few?) drinks deep at their table, surrounded by a few empty glasses. They were stoked we had arrived, as both of us are not really “bar” people, and we were having a fun time. That is, until one of Adam’s coworkers decided to make it awkward. I had met this guy before, he was ex-military and usually on the reserved/quiet side, so I did not expect this from him. He was obviously relaxed by the alcohol and was asking Adam and I a few questions about nesting preparations for the baby, standard stuff. “Well, have y’all christened the crib yet?” Christened the… what? Did he just say that? We laughed it off and I honestly thought I had misheard him or misunderstood him… but when I asked Adam later if maybe he misunderstood what that meant, he told me, “No he meant it that way. He was just messing with us, but they were going hard on the drinks, don’t worry, I don’t think he will even remember it.”
These stories are funny to reflect on. But I also think they are evidence that we should be mindful of what we say to pregnant women. From what I have heard from other women, the things that were said to me are just the tip of the iceberg of uncalled for or presumptive statements directed at those who are literally incubating new life. However, I cannot lie and say I did not do it myself pre-pregnancy. (Put my foot in my mouth, that is.)
A coworker of mine was about 6 months pregnant. She was super kind and hard-working therapist, and newer to the clinic than I was at the time. But on a certain day, in the bustle of our work and caseload I really looked at her. Dark bags colored the spaces under her eyes and she looked uncharacteristically pale to me. The clinic was extremely busy at this time I recall, a technician had been fired unexpectantly and I believe another one quit. Us therapists were thusly asked (directed?) to clean and turn over every room after each of our patients in the short-term fall-out of staff. I was concerned about this coworker being expected to do this extra work on top of the fact she was dealing with gestational diabetes on top of everything else. Before I could think, I blurted out “You look a bit sick.” I meant it in a manner of acknowledgement, like I noticed that she did not look well and was trying to communicate my concern. Her face immediately fell, and I instantly regretted it. “No, that’s not what I meant!” She played it off, but I could tell that the damage was done and she was hurt by it. But I made an effort to clean offer to clean her rooms while she had her snack during documentation as penance when I could.
This experience with my coworker and the other stories with our patients have given me the experience to reconsider how I speak and treat other pregnant women, and realize we are all going through our own unique challenges in the first phase of motherhood.
80% of my pregnancy was actually pretty amazing, and I must admit I rather enjoyed it. The latter part was complicated by the fact my son was measuring small on the ultrasound and they thought I may need an induction. That phase was not fun at all, especially considering my OBGYN decided to take a month off in my 8th month of pregnancy. Unavoidable, but also daunting to think that the person who knew my whole medical history and progress would not be there leading up to the birth, and unfortunately the OBGYN who took his place was… less than reassuring. But that is a story for another part ( everyone’s favorite part, right?)… Birth.