Pregnancy sf

I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to feel disgusted by this being inside of me, eating me up from the inside, looking like an alien, according to the pictures in a book about the unborn child.
First time I felt this being was actually alive was when he kicked me. I was lying on my side, hand on my belly and all of a sudden, out of the blue, I felt for a moment a tiny little feet in my hand. Wow! Shock - it scared me - an alien with feet!


I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to pretend I was soooo surprised and happy when I felt for the first time this being inside of me kicking.

I didn't tell the people that were with me that I was actually scared of this little creature, but emphasized I was surprised (lol in shock actually) - I wasn't honest because I didn't want them to know what I was actually experiencing because I thought I was being weird.

I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to think of myself as weird and not normal when pregnant because I didn't feel all this happy feelings, wasn't 'in heaven' and stuff. At the same time I felt I was the only one really being honest about it, but it was best not to be that outgoing about it.

Yes, it is a big lie that women are telling themselves and others, because we, the women, are trapped in this child birth thing, this mommy thing - and you better decorate your prison with nice things so you can pretend you are living in a nice home. The pinkish clouds, fairytales. hahaha We are even told by others and ourselves we are not real women if not having babies!

I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to not be frank about what I was experiencing during pregnancy (not about all of it) because I felt people would label me as 'negative', 'sick', not a good mother, if they knew I didn't experience this pregnancy thing as 'spiritual', 'special', 'pink clouds', but as exhausting, like there wasn't space for me anymore in my own body. I didn't experience 'the wonder' of it - just lots of discomfort.

From the beginning to the end of the pregnacy I was disgusted by it - not so much by the baby, but by this physical thing. I felt, still perceive it to be, well, what, so, so... why must these babies grow inside of a womans body? It felt like some sort of degradation. I still can't talk about this with other women, mothers - they maybe do not understand, but maybe they wont admit it to themselves. Saying this 'great wonder of life' growing inside a womans body (and oh my - it got to get out too!) isn't so wonderful at all, well that's so not done, grrmmmpf I remember this pregnancy yoga lessons I took (I hated them) - all these fat ladies were so 'hallelujah', even looking forward to delivery (mwah, looking forward to all this pain, screaming, blood, mweah) and me just feeling trapped in all of it. I couldn't picture me in child labour, so I didn't think about it - I really preferred not to have to go through this, lol. And wow, in the end I didn't have to because the child was in the wrong position, so the gyneacologist suggested a Caesarian when the child wouldn't turn his little body in time. And it didn't, so I was happy I had not to go through this disgusting delivery proces :)
People around me felt sorry for me I could not give birth to the child myself (geeez what is it with these Dutch - they all want to deliver at home, with as much pain and inconvenience possible and when you dare to state you rather go for a Caesarian they look at you as if you are the most horrible, ognorant person in the world. And then they start to tell you how bad it is for your baby to not be born the 'natural way' and how he probably will come across specific problems in his life because of it and more crap) and they wouldn't let me be frank about it - they made me shut up. And I did shut up - I felt like I was the only sane person haha. I hated these 'dream pictures' that are out there of babies in your body and what I should feel.
I was waiting for this child to come out to finally meet him. I was very curious to see how he looked.

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