Morning Sickness Has Made Me a Terrible Mother

This is my fourth pregnancy. Every time I’ve been expecting, the first trimester has been hell. I feel like shit, am tired all the time, puke my guts out, have an aversion to coffee (which is not helpful with the tiredness) and have constipation.

I am not complaining about these things because I’m not grateful for my children or am insensitive to those who wish they were pregnant. I complain about these things because they fucking suck. It is no fun to feel like shit for weeks straight, no matter the reason.

I hate morning sickness. Even the name, which we all know is stupid because it lasts all damn day. I hate the lack of energy. I hate that I break down crying because I ordered pizza again instead of making dinner for my family. 

I hate that my kids spend all day in front of the TV because Mom just doesn’t have the energy to get off the couch today. I hate that my dishes pile up until we have no more clean forks or spoons. I hate that there is no clean underwear because the laundry didn’t get done, again. 

Most of all, I hate that it makes me feel like a failure. 

It’s not that I don’t notice the piddle on the seat or next to the toilet that my son left, or the toys piled up on the floor, or the sheen of dust covering every surface, it’s just that I don’t have the energy to do a damn thing about it. 

So, my house is a mess. My kids are not disciplined consistently. We eat lunch late, dinner late, we’re lucky if anyone gets breakfast. 

I feel like I accomplished so much in a day if I do so much as run the dishwasher, wash a single load of laundry, take my kids to the library or park, or take a shower. 

All of this makes me feel like a lazy piece of shit.

I shouldn’t feel like that, I know I shouldn’t. I am growing a human being. That’s kind of a big deal. Expect, moms are supposed to do it all, have it all, or whatever. We are not supposed to get sick or tired or moody. We are not supposed to let morning sickness kick our ass.

You’d think I would be used to this by now. I’ve been down this road four times now, but it doesn’t get any easier.  Maybe I just don’t know how to cut myself a break. 

My two year old daughter walks in on me puking in the bathroom. “You sick Mama?” she asks, “You need band-aid?”

“No,” I tell her, in between heaves, “Mommy will be fine.”

She leaves and comes back with Goodnight Moon and leaves it on the bathmat. “Here you go Mom, book make you feel better.”

Her sweetness does make me feel better. 

I know this won’t last forever. In past pregnancies I have gotten a second wind around the time the second trimester starts. I am eagerly awaiting that second wind.

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Thank you for sharing!