To all the women who love pregnancy, tell me, what am I doing wrong?

From the moment I discovered I was pregnant six months ago, my reactions have been seemingly incorrect.

The first pregnancy test that showed a positive result was flung across the bathroom in surprise. The second was photographed alongside its retrieved predecessor and sent to my partner, alongside a text reading, “Um, this happened.”

Celebrities like Rihanna and Beyonce have made lavish pregnancy announcements.Credit: Getty

If this was an unplanned pregnancy, my reaction would be somewhat normal – but we had been trying to conceive on and off for years. I had undergone a cycle of intrauterine insemination, and we were booked to see our fertility specialist again the next after those tests came up positive.

A natural pregnancy should have been a miracle to celebrate. Yet, my reaction wasn’t one of joy and excitement – instead, I cried because I had thought, even though we had been trying for this, that I would have longer to come to terms with what pregnancy and being a parent would mean for our lives.

Sienna Miller announced her second pregnancy earlier this year at a Vogue event.Credit: Getty

So, why hadn’t I already made peace with the impending changes of parenthood if I was invested enough in the process to be pursuing it so seriously for so long? The truth is that as much as I want to be a parent, I had assumed that parenthood was something still a way off. I was doing the sensible thing by undergoing the fertility investigations, but my cynicism meant I was more prepared for a long protracted process than an easy one.

From the minute women are old enough to understand the concept of pregnancy, we are told pregnancy is a wonderful, special time to “enjoy it” and relish the opportunity to witness your body’s incredible ability to create life. But what I feel, day in day out, is a sense of frustration. My body is changing in a way that is limiting the things I do – from the exhaustion in the first trimester, to the pelvic girdle pain I have now - In a way I hadn’t expected.

And then, once this phase is over, there will be a baby. And as people continuously tell me, everything will change irrevocably. My time will no longer be my own, no matter how committed and helpful my partner is. I’ll be the one at home, tied to my child’s needs unable to freely make decisions without planning every moment around them for at least six months. I will be the one no longer earning an income. All this while also learning how to be a parent and keep a newborn alive and well on what, I understand, is exceptionally little sleep.

The thing is, I love this baby already. I enjoy every kick and flutter. I can’t wait to meet him, and I know that there is a lot of joy and love and excitement in our future. Already, he is so loved and so wanted. But I also fiercely love my independence and the adventures my life has held to date and I am struggling to let go of the freedom with which I have always been able to make decisions for myself as a childless adult.

The expectation of friends, family, complete strangers and decades of popular culture is that I only exhibit pure happiness and excitement. If I speak about my doubts and frustrations with being pregnant, it’s as though I’m saying I don’t want my baby or that I’m not thankful to be experiencing a pregnancy without complications, or that I’m not thankful simply to be pregnant. The fact that I haven’t made a formal pregnancy announcement on social media, don’t particularly want a baby shower and haven’t bought anything for the nursery have all been pointed out to me as unusual behaviours as a first-time expecting mother.

But why is it so inconceivable in our narratives about motherhood to both want a child and mourn the old lives we are leaving behind? To be ready to care for and prioritise someone else so completely when the time comes, and also be startled by the necessary sacrifice that this reappraisal of our priorities will entail of our spontaneity and selfishness.

If motherhood can be isolating, especially for first time mothers, pregnancy has felt just as isolating for me, plagued as I am by these paradoxical emotions and unable to share them without fearing judgement.

For me, the best thing about being pregnant – perhaps the only thing I have enjoyed and cherished – is the private relationship already forming between me, my partner and our child. Feeling our baby’s movements, seeing him in ultrasounds, and imagining our lives together - these moments are what have confirmed for me that I am ready for this, even when I have been racked with doubts. The rest of it – the performative elements of announcements and parties and paraphernalia, have felt more stressful than exciting.

With only a few months to go, I know that the highs of loving and caring for our first child will be balanced with the lows of facing the changes to life as we have known it. But I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s ok to embrace the complicated mess of ups and downs, even if it doesn’t fit the idealised depiction of first time motherhood people seem to expect.

Zoya Patel is an author and freelance writer from Canberra.

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