I’m going to start off by saying that I am feeling all of the feelings today, especially the crappy ones. We are going to talk about feeling like an anthropomorphic starfish while you’re pregnant. So don’t be dicks.
The things that keep you skinny are not present during pregnancy. Like a normal appetite. Every three hours, like clockwork, I feel like I am going to die if I don’t eat the contents of at least one shelf in the fridge. And some m&ms. Pants? They all have stretchy, freakishly forgiving waistbands. Friends? They all tell you that you look like a cute pregnant lady and that your arms haven’t been replaced with thighs and that your thighs haven’t been replaced with sequoias. And your own brain? It is a jerk that has been taken over by your stomach and will think of every excuse possible to get you to put nacho cheese on your breakfast cereal.
I have been using the word “you,” a lot when I really mean “this chick right here.” This is a coping mechanism because I have been living in OhIAmJustPregnantSoThisIsNormalCookiesandYogaPantsForever Land. And then I went to the doctor today for my monthly check up and she peed all over my parade and made me come back to Realsville because I gained all of the pounds in a month. All of them. Wanna have a huge case of the shame cries? Let your doctor wonder out loud if the nurses got your weight right. But, ahem, BUT, this was right after she told me I look great, just like all of the aforementioned friends. Stop trying to be my friend, Doc. And double stop lifting me up right before you drop me on my ass.
This doctor’s appointment was followed by a shitload of crying, because no one likes being served a big steaming bowl of Dude, Stop Eating Shit. And then it was followed by a shitload of rage because I was hungry again, just like every third moment of my life nowadays. And then it was followed by more crying because I am pregnant as all hell and have become a World Champion Crier.
Being pregnant is hard. There is more of everything. More emotions, more hormones, more things to worry about, more you in general. The payoff is completely worth it in the end, but the process blows. In normal life, when you gain weight, you can take steps to lose it and go back to where you were before. When you are pregnant, you don’t get to lose. You just get to try to put it on slower. But when you have spent most of your life being worried about the numbers on the scale going up, it is really hard to not feel defeated when they are supposed to go up. When you feel like a bean bag with arms and legs stuck on it, even the expected gain is hard. This made me completely avoid my scale for most of the past month. That didn’t make it okay to coat the contents of my pantry in chocolate frosting, but it didn’t stop me, either.
To be honest, I haven’t had much of a problem with my body since I got pregnant. It is the number that bothers me more than anything. And I stopped keeping track of my weight because of the number, not because I was looking in the mirror everyday and seeing the Lady That Ate Sara staring back at me. I just saw a pregnant babe, and I usually felt pretty good about it. So I guess I am saying that numbers also blow, and I’m pissed about all the celery I’m going to be eating because celery also blows. But a kick in the pants is a kick in the pants, and it’s not like anyone made me wrap all those poptarts in bacon.
This post was brought to you by pictures of lettuce.