Brian & I went to the Gulf Coast this past week to play on the beach. We stayed on Pensacola Beach, but my father-in-law and sister-in-law and their families were also down staying on Perdido Key, so we spent a lot of time with them as well. We had fabulous fun, but my vacay is not really what this post is about. This post is about how my body is never going to be the same after this whole pregnancy thing.
Most of my adult life I’ve been pretty thin. Stems from growing to 6′ tall by the age of 14, then being scouted for modeling, a profession where you are expected to stay the same size endlessly so your marketing material stays correct and you can fit into designer samples. Not that I never gained weight (Hello semester in Paris! You want me to model while here? Ha, NO, I’m eating cheese & drinking wine into a size 12 and I’m going to LOVE it!), but I certainly never had what I would consider a really womanly figure. I’ve certainly never had a belly before, and boobs? Please. I knew better endowed men.
The changes have been fascinating. I’ve leased out my body to an outside (inside?) force – this tiny little girl who kicks me in the gut & demands an ever-growing uterus. I spend an embarrassing amount of time analyzing myself in the mirror in awe. My chest is now starting to outgrow the 38B bras I had to buy once none of my tiny-tit padded underwire bras would clasp anymore (plus omg – sore boobs! underwire became cruel & unusual punishment). My hips & butt spread all ways, I’m in XL low-rise hipster undies. My size small Victoria’s Secret thongs & bikini briefs I wore last year now look impossibly uncomfortable. And of course the belly. The belly just grows & grows. I look down and think “how can it possibly get any bigger?” then sure enough, by the next week or so – even bigger.
All those changes have actually been kind of fun to watch happen. I feel soft and curvy and more womanly than I ever have in my life. But don’t let me lead you on with the impression it’s all about fun belly and boobs and butt. Apparently, 32 weeks is when I lose my ankles. Seriously, my feet look like little sausages that could explode at any moment. None of my shoes fit. Which is a bummer because I already wear a size 11 – not a lot of room to grow in the “I can still buy shoes at a normal store” range. Hormones have made all my joints loosey-goosey which kind of feels like what I imagine arthritis to feel like. Because I wasn’t really in great cardio shape prior to getting pregnant, plus the tiny human stealing oxygen, physical exertion is a joke – I get winded going up slight inclines (on one walk Brian compared watching me go up minor hills to the “Fat Camp” episode of South Park, which made me laugh, using precious oxygen and making the walk take even longer…). Sleeping all night is long an elusive goal. My bed is littered with every pillow in the house, plus a big body pillow, with hopes that I can erect the perfect pillow palace that will allow me to fall asleep and stay asleep for longer than a two hour stretch. My whole life has become a game of “Sit, stand, lay” because each position starts comfortable then becomes uncomfortable within 40 minutes or so. And lastly, even though I like to think of myself as above caring what a scale reads, I will probably freak out when I inevitably hit 200lbs (I’m already 193 & I’m supposed to keep gaining around a pound a week until delivery…). I told Brian I’m glad he weighs 235 so I can still weigh less than him. Which is totally silly.
So without going into details that you probably don’t want to read about in a blog, that sums up my physical experience so far. Nothing will ever be the same. And it will all be worth it. This is what my body is built for and I’m doing my best to celebrate it. Even when I’ve got to walk up a hill with swollen ankles on two hours of sleep.
(By the way, floating in the ocean pregnant felt AWESOME)