Luxe Multi-Hyphenate

For the last 10–15 years, I said it with my whole chest: “I don’t want any kids.”

I even wrote a blog about it.

And yet… here we are. Seven months pregnant. Life has a sense of humor.

I didn’t have the glowing, magical, movie-version symptoms. No dramatic cravings. No obvious signs. I was just a little more tired than usual. A strange metallic taste in my mouth for a few days. My appetite disappeared. My favorite perfume smelled… off. Not bad, just different.

What finally made me take a test? The frequent, urgent trips to the bathroom.

When I showed my husband the results, we just stared at each other. No screaming. No crying. Just shock. Pure, silent shock.

And then everything changed.

The Part No One Prepares You For

I wasn’t prepared for what came after the joyful announcement.

I wasn’t prepared for the hospital visits for fluids.

I wasn’t prepared for sleepless nights — and the baby isn’t even here yet.

I wasn’t prepared for months of nasal congestion.

And I definitely wasn’t prepared to be diagnosed with Hyperemesis gravidarum (HG).

HG is not “morning sickness.” It’s not crackers and ginger tea. It’s not “have you tried peppermint?” It’s a debilitating condition that leaves you unable to function. I carried blue emesis bags with me everywhere for months. I couldn’t keep water down. Water.

There were frequent trips to urgent care and the ER. One visit lasted 36 hours while I waited for a bed to open up. I got my first ambulance ride — not exactly a bucket list item. The EMT riding in the back with me used post-game traffic from a Washington Commanders game as an opportunity to tell me he believed women who don’t want children are selfish.

Thankfully, I was too sick to debate him.

I wasn’t prepared for the constipation.

For how constant vomiting would damage my teeth — hello, first root canal.

For the office gossip that I “must not be excited” because I wasn’t broadcasting every detail.

People offered advice out of love. Teas. Foods. Old remedies. But with HG, you can’t keep anything down. Not food. Not liquids. Not well-meaning suggestions.

It has honestly been a 0/10 experience physically.

And Yet…

In spite of all of it — the ER visits, the IV fluids, the exhaustion, the anxiety — my biggest concern has never been me.

It’s him.

Is he okay when I haven’t felt him move in a while?

Is he getting enough nutrients even when I can barely eat?

Is he healthy? Is he growing?

Does he know how much I love him?

Because here’s the part I didn’t expect:

Although I didn’t plan for him… I am so thankful he’s here.

This pregnancy has stretched me physically, emotionally, spiritually. It has humbled me. It has forced me to confront assumptions I held for years about what my life would look like.

I still believe women are allowed to choose the life they want. I still believe deciding not to have children is valid. And I also believe life sometimes unfolds in ways we never saw coming.

Now that I’m pregnant, I can say this:

This journey has not been beautiful. It has not been easy. It has not been Instagram-worthy.

But it has been real.

And I cannot wait to meet our son. 🥰