Growing a Human

From a pretty young age, I wanted to be a mother. More specifically, I wanted to be a biological mother. The idea of growing a child inside me, nurturing them from the very moment of conception, filled me with excitement and longing.

When John and I were married, I wanted to get pregnant right away. We agreed to wait a couple of years and my logical brain understood that decision. I knew that having some years of ‘just the two of us’ would be great. I knew that the time would make me more ready to be a mom when it did happen.

But a deep, relentless part of me kept screaming: BABY. NOW. And I had to wait. Each year felt like forever.

I would day dream about being pregnant: rubbing my belly after a large meal and pretending my food baby was a real baby. I would pretend during church service that John and I were going to announce our pregnancy soon and people just didn’t know yet.

And then finally, it was time. We started trying and then March 1st, I got that wonderful, highly-anticipated positive pregnancy test!


Joy. Hysterical happiness. Love. Excitement. I felt it all.

This was it! I had been waiting and it was finally happening! My child had begun the long process of coming to the world. Hooray!

Then, I met morning sickness.

And all day sickness. Nausea at the thought of eating. Every smell and taste making me lose my lunch even though I was also hungry all the time.

And fatigue. Bone-numbing, thought-strangling, I’m-just-going-to-take-a-nap-right-here fatigue.

And then the baby started growing. I felt his kicks and tried to just be filled with awe and wonder…

But with my growing baby, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It shocked me how early this happened. From the fifth month on, I was uncomfortable at every moment of the day. Sleeping was difficult, but I was still experiencing that fatigue. My body felt foreign to me. My belly button stretching out freaked me out.

In short: I HATED being pregnant.


How could I hate this?

I know women who have yearned and worked to get pregnant and couldn’t. I know women who have lost babies. Here I was, pregnant, married, and excited to be a mom, but I didn’t like how sick and uncomfortable I felt? How selfish!

I knew there would be sucky things about it, but shouldn’t the fact that I’m miraculously bringing new life into the world overshadow all that? Shouldn’t I feel more mom-like? Nurturing? Shouldn’t I revel in each gross thing that is bringing my baby closer to me?

But just a minute, I have to go barf into a trash can in the middle of a public place. {Oh, the miracle of life.}

I had a really hard time coming to terms with this. I felt completely disillusioned. It was rough to let go of how I thought I would feel and accept how I did feel.

I had to spend time in prayer, confessing to God that I was mad. I was mad that I didn’t like this. My expectations were being violated. I was sick and sad and angry.

This was supposed to be magical.

And God met me in that place. I never felt like I thought I should, but slowly, I accepted it. I accepted that I actually didn’t like being pregnant. I realized that I could still be grateful for this gift while suffering through. It was okay that I didn’t feel happiness overflowing. I was still nurturing life. I was still being used by God to bring my son into the world.

And, eventually, as all pregnancies do, it ended and I got to meet my wonderful, amazing son who I had the privilege of carrying for 9 months.

Praise the Lord.