bhalababy

When you’re used to having it all, having a baby just isn’t enough.

I had left a city of consumerism where it was unconstitutional to not be selfish. I had left an apartment in one of the best London suburbs and a smoulderingly sexy SMEG fridge. I had left behind Paris for the weekend and Rome the next. And most importantly, I had left a job that allowed a year off for maternity leave; half of that paid. I had left my zone. How could this have happened? How could my life have changed so dramatically in one moment of passion … a totally cliché-free moment of passion, I might add, that didn’t involve a romantic hut on a beach on an exotic island. Not even close.

I wasn’t meant to be pregnant. What I was meant to be was gainfully employed, living it up on champagne and oysters in my new chi-chi townhouse on Table Mountain with a shiny new coupe in the garage.

Somewhere in a parallel universe there was a chick with my life. And I hated her.

The feelings I experienced during my pregnancy had me hanging over a precipice, looking down on a pit of psychoses I was at severe risk of falling into. People call it hormonal, depressed, overwhelmed, etc., etc., but I believe it is the product of your parents’ attitudes, the egos of the folk you hang out with and the support you get from the people you love.

It dawned on me about six months into my pregnancy that I needed to analyse and reassess all of the above. The catalyst: an old friend I bumped into at a party who, in response to the news of my pregnancy, glanced and my fading hourglass and said, ‘Shame!’

How refreshing.

To be honest I had, by this stage, allowed a little excitement to mingle with the apprehension and cynicism, but my false smiles for people more excited than I was about my pregnancy were beginning to wear thin. No one would listen to me … I mean really listen. The thought of not only having a baby but also becoming a mother (yes, one implies the other but each induce their own unique feelings of fear and insecurity) completely terrified me. The friendly reassurance smacked of Stepford Wives.

‘Your life becomes so amazing when you have a child.’
You’ll fall in love with your child as soon as you see him.’
‘Your bond with your husband becomes so much stronger.’
Well, good for them. But all I needed was a little sympathy.

If you don’t get congratulated next time you tell someone you’re pregnant, perhaps that person has read this blog.

Not only were my muscles taking a vacation, my brain was too.

Postnatal depression is something all women are advised to watch out for and prepare for. Prenatal depression is just as real.

When your head goes walkabout and you can’t seem to focus; when enjoyment of your friends seems to dwindle; when sleep is unnaturally high on your list of priorities … basically when life sucks … you may very well have prenatal depression. Obviously, you should only get yourself screened for prenatal depression if not only the above applies to you, but you are also pregnant.

Usually when sick or incapacitated, it is a relief to climb into a hot bubble bath and feel guilt-free about lack of exercise for a few days. But what if you don’t have the choice? I was training for the Two Oceans half marathon and had climbed to 40km per week off-road running. Granted, it had been getting difficult to run, but that was during the phase of suspected malaria, so I kept pushing myself.

When I discovered I was pregnant, I was even more determined to run the race. I was not going to be one of those women who fell pregnant, put their feet up and expected to be treated like an invalid. Or so I thought.

At 4 months pregnant and a few weeks still to go to race day, I began to feel as though my insides were falling out each time I took a downhill plod … and when those insides hold a delicate, and rapidly growing, bunch of cells, I had to call it quits.

Pregnancy is as common as the common cold and you are treated as though there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. But then you fail at your exercise routine and life and limb become so much more cumbersome. So which is it? Are you delicate and worthy of giving yourself a break or should you attempt to continue as if all is the same?

That little bean on the ultrasound photo seems so insignificant at first but your child impacts your entire life from the moment it is around one inch tall. I succumbed and climbed into many hot bubble baths, primarily to chant and work through the resentment I was feeling towards my unborn child.