My pregnancy (long story short)

They say it’s the most exciting time of a woman's life. Nothing you will ever experience in your life is similar to growing a tiny human inside you for nine months. “Enjoy every moment”, they say.

This was supposed to be an ordinary pregnancy journal, you know, the one where for 41 weeks you just write whatever symptoms you have, how big is the baby, if you puked that day or not, why didn’t you and so on.

I did start off by having an ordinary pregnancy. I did pass through the “terrifying” First Trimester where I was tired, I had an awful morning sickness, I was irritated and always annoyed by my husband.

It was the time we decided to move to Germany so we took everything and went there. The cravings started, my boobs exploded, my appetite for food was never that huge and I was as happy as I could be, with my hopes of a fresh start.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Not even mid pregnancy I found out my dad had brain tumor and not much time was left.

I spent one week in Germany. One last week of sleeping without feeling the sweat of death on my forehead.

I went back to Romania by myself, leaving my husband to give a chance to that life we were about to start, not knowing that it was doomed the moment we took the airplane towards Germany, but my sense of guilt didn’t let me take other decision.

My second trimester of pregnancy was a nightmare.

I spent every single day in different hospitals, talking with tens of doctors, changing fates from a minute to another, making up lies and stories to comfort my dying father who sometimes didn’t even know who I was, always trying to avoid conversations with the dead he was surrounded by in his stolen mind.

The most awful type of brain tumor with no cure that spread in all his body. He died after two months of great pain, mixed blurred memories or no memories at all sometimes, just a dark and deadly imagination.

How was I doing? I wasn’t sleeping, taking shifts at night with mom to guard him while he was still walking; he used to turn on the water and leave, light up a cigarette and leave, or not remember how to use a knife and hurt himself. I was lifting and that is a no no in a pregnancy. I had to lift dad when he was unable to walk anymore. I wasn’t eating because the food had become something that my body rejected, nothing was appealing at this time. I smoked. Out of rage and anger and despair. I suffered from intense stress. There was not even a day passing by without any crying.

I buried my father imagining how I’m going to hold my daughter in few months. This was the only thing keeping me strong.

So here we are, third trimester. Ninth month to be exact. Moved to Bulgaria, prepared and bought everything the baby needed, got married, started to walk very slow and to get tired at every step, got stomach burns and nose blocks and my fear of giving birth kept getting bigger and bigger.

Seemed like all the anger, frustration and pain I was gathering went in some bubble and got expelled once I gave birth to my little miracle.

My angel to whom I have to thank for staying with me until the end and didn’t get lost somewhere on the way. We did it together, for this I am sure. I couldn’t have stayed sane without her.

So that’s my pregnancy story.

Had a happy ending after all.