My partner and I have been together for the entirety of my adult life. After nearly 13 years together and 8 years of marriage, there’s one thing I’ve maintained: I’ve never once urinated in his presence and go to great lengths to avoid any flatulence around him. Grooming my intimate areas in front of him? No, thank you; I’ll wait until he’s not around.
I feel the need to keep the passion alive in our relationship. I want him to see me as a beautiful, alluring goddess who has no interest in peeing, pooping, or dealing with any other unseemly bodily functions. While he knows these things happen, I prefer not to draw attention to them. After all, no couple needs to be in the loop about every unpleasant detail of their partner’s life.
And then I became pregnant.
What can I say? The mystery was quickly stripped away. While I still haven’t actually peed in front of him, the dreaded “morning” sickness hit me at the most inconvenient of times, like when I was brushing my teeth at night. Knowing that my husband was the reason I was hurling my dinner into the toilet (and once into the shower when nausea struck without warning), he held back my hair and comforted me while I retched. And, of course, he took it upon himself to clean the toilet afterward since the scent of cleaning products is unbearable for a pregnant woman.
This was just the beginning of the unraveling of my goddess persona. My back erupted in large, boil-like pimples that wouldn’t look out of place in a ProActiv advertisement. When my OB suggested a pregnancy-safe treatment, guess who had to apply it to my inflamed back? That’s right, my husband. So now, the beautiful goddess he once saw had vomited in the shower at his feet and had oozing blemishes on her back that he was obligated to touch.
But that’s not even the worst part. Pregnancy-related bowel movements are a struggle like no other. Don’t get me wrong; the relief after finally going is unmatched, but the process itself feels like it’s preparing me for labor. The mere thought of needing to go after taking a laxative feels like a punishment. With the only bathroom in our home located next to our bedroom, my husband has had to endure my anguished cries while he lies in bed, probably wondering what on earth is happening in there.
Add to this the OB appointments he dutifully accompanies me to, where he’s witnessed examinations and even a vaginal ultrasound during which the technician asked if I wanted to insert the probe, and the image of the pristine goddess is completely shattered. There’s no longer any mystery. I need to accept that just as pregnancy pooping is getting me ready for labor, these realities are prepping me for the moment he’ll be in the delivery room when all bodily functions will likely be on full display.
Despite the transformation of my goddess image during this pregnancy, every night after he applies medication to my problematic back, he gently places his hand on my growing belly, kisses me, and tells me I’ve never looked more beautiful to him.
In response, I gaze at him in awe. I don’t question how he can see beauty in me; instead, I wonder what kind of magic potion he’s on that allows him to feel that way, and I hope I can get my hands on some when labor begins. For more insights on managing pregnancy skin issues, visit this authority on the subject here. And if you’re looking for more information about fertility treatments and home insemination, check out this excellent resource here.
Summary:
Pregnancy has stripped away the mystery in my marriage, revealing the challenges of bodily functions that I previously kept hidden from my husband. From morning sickness to embarrassing skin issues, the goddess persona I tried to maintain has faded. Yet, through it all, my husband continues to find me beautiful, reminding me that love transcends physical appearances.