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When Good Things Don’t Feel Good

There’s a sinking feeling of being in the middle of a “wonderful new adventure”, one of the “best seasons of your life”, or “The sweetest months of motherhood” when you just don’t get it.

This best season just hurts right now. This new adventure feels too new, too scary, too impossible. Those sweet moments are full of throwing up, throwing away your previously healthy diet for the pizza you can keep down, or scrambling to find a home with two bedrooms (and the budget to afford two bedrooms.)

I’m in the midst of that.

I’m midway through my pregnancy and I truly love my little one very dearly, but throwing up for nearly three months just isn’t fun, no matter how you slice it or who’s causing it. I wouldn’t trade this baby for anything, but I would trade this crazy experience for something a little more sacred-feeling, something with more pregnancy glow and less morning sickness.

Funny, how when something that’s been glorified by culture turns out to be a miserable experience, we feel really guilty.

Am I a horrible mama for hating the throwing up? Is it truly, fearfully awful of me to not be enjoying this with joyful bump selfies and exclamatory Facebook posts about nursery prep?

No.

No, I’m not the worst parent this earth has seen.

No, you’re not awful for not enjoying the college experience your parents are paying for. It’s ok to have a bum day on a vacation and not feel bad. It’s ok to have a great job, great friends, a great home, and sometimes still feel sad. That’s allowed, you know? This is my first ever maternity photo; I took it the day I learned I was pregnant. I spent that day laughing and crying and trying to understand the strange mix of joy and fear.


In all my complaining, I’m not finding fault with this little, incredibly precious son or daughter.

When I think of infant snuggles and first smiles and that sweet word “Mama” on those new-to-speech little lips, I just melt of happiness. But when I’m huddled in the bathroom handing one nasty bucket after another out to be washed, I’m less thrilled with this whole business.

I’d like to wake up and discover that I’m in a life-sized game of Monopoly and realize I’m holding a card that says “Go straight to birth. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.”

I guess that isn’t how it works. How it works is that something can be beautiful and really hard by turns, and you’re allowed to mourn the times it’s hard, to grieve the painful experience.

Just remember the sweet times. Don’t lose hope when you lose sight of the light. 

I promise you: it gets better.

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