Strong

So this past week has been crazy.  I've been renovating our backyard.  We bought this house last spring and it's one of those houses that we will spend the first few years slowly replacing it piece by piece, if you know what I mean.  We're already behind schedule because with how crazy last year got once Aria was born, we had neither the time, money, or heart to do much with the house.  But this summer major things are happening.  Two weeks ago I put in a retaining wall along our fence to make a long garden bed.  This week I have laid sod, dug trenches, hauled bulk wood chips, leveled our yard, laid down landscape fabric, and shoveled 2 tons of gravel (literally).  It's been a one-woman show for the most part, and I am sore and exhausted every night when I go to bed.  But!  I also have been proud of how much I have been able to do on my own.

It got me to thinking.  I realized that during this week, at no point did I question if I would be able to do some of these very physically demanding tasks.  Instead I stood there in front of the pallet of sod, or the pile of rocks, or the ground that needed to be leveled but was hard as concrete, and thought to myself, "this is not going to be fun, and I'm going to be really sore tomorrow" then groaned and started working on it.  Times like these I joke to Michael that it's my half farm blood coming through.  Well, before this week that's a joke I haven't made for a couple years now.  My whole adult life, including my pregnancy with Bennett, I was always pretty secure in my physical ability to do hard things.  Two summers ago I was in one of best shapes of my life.  All that changed in an instant the moment I became pregnant with Aria.  I was so, so sick for so long.  I spent the first 20 weeks basically flat on the couch.  I have no idea how we got through that time.  I did continue to work, but only when absolutely necessary, and I did start crying at work once because I just felt so sick and miserable which was embarrassing.  I also was overcome with guilt because Bennett basically just watched tv all day since I couldn't get up to play.  We moved when I was 18 weeks pregnant, and I managed to pack up most of the house on my own over the course of a few weeks.  I would pack a box, then go throw up and then lay down to rest for a bit.  Then get up and repeat.  After 20 weeks, the nausea finally went away, but by then I was so weak from the past few months that it was hard to bounce back.  I was also already at the weight I was the day I delivered Bennett (which I have no idea how that's possible since I couldn't keep food down).  I also started having all kinds of crazy pregnancy pains that I never had with Bennett.  I took to sleeping on the couch, sitting up, many nights because it hurt less than laying down in bed.  Changing positions was excruciating.  When I was pregnant with Bennett, I had truly never felt healthier in my life and said I'd be fine being pregnant forever.  With my dear little Aria. . .well, it was truly a miserable pregnancy.  I'd be lying if I said anything different.

But I'd do it again, if it meant I could keep her this time.  (I mean, look how darn cute she is!)

I suspect though that part of the reason the pregnancy was so utterly miserable was because she was so sick herself, right from the very beginning.  She couldn't do anything for herself and I was doing all the work for her, more than usual pregnancies.

I've also had a very difficult time recovering from this pregnancy physically.  With Bennett I felt pretty good soon after and was even down to my pre-pregnancy weight within a couple months.  Over the last 11 months since Aria was born, I have still often felt like I have physical restrictions compared to what I used to be.  This week was the first time that I really felt strong again.  It's been a weird feeling.  I've felt almost guilty about it, the fact that I HAVE been able to physically recover from my body sacrificing itself for her.  I'm simultaneously happy and betrayed by my body feeling healthy again for the first time in so long.

This life of being an angel mama. . .such a weird complicated mess of emotions :)