I wont lie, getting pregnant wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done. My heart ached for so long till I saw those two little pink lines.

Finally pregnant, I began to hear the horror stories. You know the ones, told by the bitter woman and passed on in the hopes that you too will suffer the lack of comfort that they had endured. These included: ripping of the fan-wah, helium boobs (a personal dread due to a bad case of boobus ginormus), tree trunk legs, loss of bladder control and toilet hugging. More hilarious stories included: squirting nipples at inappropriate moments and pooping during labor.

Prepared for the worst, I stepped into the crazy world of lady + bump.

But the worst seemed to pass me by. I became the preggo that other preggos hated. No morning sickness, limted weight gain, and my cravings were limited to steamed vegies and fresh fruit. I was pretty damn blessed during the whole period.

I did however, experience walrus syndrome. Any one that had gone all the way to or past full term (past 36wks) will understand and secretly wince as they read this and have a little flash back to that oh so special time. Walrus syndrome is when your whole living, being and doing resembles that of said water based mammal. It starts off simple, a little bit round and feeling slighly more sleepy/tired/lazy than normal. Then you find your self beached on couches and using a rather large amount of energy trying to get up and off. The groaning and moaning becomes more vocal and seems to scare off the wildlife (aka husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, family and neighbours). On top of these incredibly attractive characteristics, we as completely insane human beings attempt any and every tried and tested labor inducing act/food/drink/event. Yeah- that was fun (not).

When she finally arrived (40wks, not burnt but cooked well) we went from thinking we knew what to expect, to knowing that we had absolutely no idea. An incredibly healthy little bubba with a more than healthy appetite, we were feeling super lucky and loved up.

But then the “baby karma” kicked in.

With a healthy appetite from the get go, tiny human when first introduced to the food source (boobies) went in for the kill. Blood blisters and meat missing, her healthy appetite lead to an infection. Then furthered on the become a gigantic breast abscess. About the size of a tennis ball (remember boobus ginormus), I was admitted into hospital when Indi was just 7 weeks new. That was a super fun experience. But it didn’t stop there, I had a drainage bag attached to my boob for the next three weeks. So.Much.Fun.

Next came the declining milk issue (the breast abscess may have something to do with this). When we were first feeding, I was told I had enough milk for twins. Indi was thriving. Fast forward two months and I could barely fill her tummy. I tried everything. The worst thing in the world is thinking you cant provide your child with what she needs to develop. After a month I gave in. My own worst critic, I hated myself for turning to formula. My saving grace was that you could automatically the difference in Indi. Much more content. It allowed me to continue mix feeding her up until just recently. I’m bloody proud to have gotten to 7 months. Many others would be jealous of that. *A message to my fellow mammas. I will not judge you on the decisions you make about feeding your child. If you do what is best for your child, then you have always made the right choice. Do not let anyone make you feel other wise. 

The hair loss is a personal favorite of mine. Prenatal vitamins combined with AMAZING baby baking hormones during the pregnancy gave me such lushious full hair. Fast forward again to 4 months post baby arrival. There were tumble weeds of brown curly hair all over the house. What looked like drowned animals in the shower and rouge strands on every surface you could see (including the bubba).

I have also had the pleasure of another medical drama that is still in the process of healing. Not the thing you really want to tell people about, uncomfortable, irritating and leading to another hospital stay. This time on my butt (Yes you can literally say a pain in the butt, if it were someone else I would have a million jokes at the ready. Instead I have perfected my evil glare when others begin to giggle). Its called a fistula. I wont bore you with the details, its not a lovely explanation anyway. Just know this. You don’t ever want one. The result is a 4 day hospital stay away from my babes and the risk of losing continence. Steer clear peeps, well clear!

Then there is the physical changes. Boobs that need to be rolled up like the top of a sardine tin to be placed (or jammed) in to a bra. A waistline that WAS the width of my sholders, but after the 12 wbt is now more recognizable. A special baby belly pouch, loose enough and comfy enough for baby baking later on in life. A few tiger stripes and a grey hair or two. Add to all this the following : a spine that for the first time in my life decided to show me pain, increased/decreased/increased/decreased boob size, eczema, a couple of really cool scars and a raging appetite.

I may have had a dream pregnancy, but I think the “baby karma” seems to have balanced me out. I must also note that although it may sound like I’m whinging, I’m not really. I’m thankful. I’m thankful that its me and not Indi. I wouldn’t be as ok with it if the tables were turned. There are many others that are not as lucky as me. Many people who would give anything to switch places. Take the pain for their kids, take the burden, be the sick and be the hurt. So I am thankful. If baby karma needs to throw a few more horror’s my way, I’ll take them. My super human mamma strength run strong.
Much love peeps xxx

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