Giving Pregnancy Weight the Middle Finger

I have to say that this second pregnancy has been much less kind on my body. 

There are many, many more stretch marks this go-round, mainly on my bursting belly. 

My ass?  It’s always been big.  But now?  There should be moons orbiting it.

I have pork chop arms.  NO!

Again, for the second time, I am at the point in my pregnancy where most of my maternity clothes DO NOT FIT.  This is insulting at the highest level.

And yet, my general attitude is “oh well.”

It feels good not to care about my appearance right now. 

Let me re-phrase that:  It feels good that my appearance right now is not sending me down a deep, dark hole of self-pity. 

I am grateful for the lessons I learned the first time around, as I watched in horror at my quickly morphing body, doing things I never thought possible.  Then I had Eli and wondered if things would ever get back to “normal.” 

Well, they very nearly did.  I was on the road to getting my body back.  I know it can be done. 

So this time around I have found that I am much more forgiving of the process, because really, there’s nothing I can do about it anyways.  This is how my body makes babies.  I gain a lot of weight, everywhere, things stretch and expand to unthinkable proportions, and at some point, soon, there will be a baby as a result of all this shifting and inflating.

It will take awhile, but eventually I’ll come up for air and then it will be back on the road to getting my body back, again. 

I find it amusing what I can overlook the second time around.  This pregnancy I throw on whatever clothes will keep me cool and comfortable and don’t give a shit about whether I even “match.”  Will people give me looks?  Who cares?

Trust me, it’s no joy to look at myself in the mirror without clothes.  I still cringe, still rush for cover in my PJ’s or whatever semi-clean attire I can manage during the day (having a toddler also contributes to my “I don’t have time to worry about my appearance” attitude).  But I also know my body isn’t going to look like this forever.

This is one instance where the previous pregnancy experience has been a blessing.  So, in the spirit of the Cee Lo Green song that keeps getting stuck in my head: F*ck you, pregnancy weight.  You’re there now, but you won’t be for long.

Hello, Fear and Anxiety

There are a lot of topics I’ve been thinking about lately, wanting to write about.  But when I sit down and try to compose my thoughts, they come out incomplete, disorganized, at times incoherent.

Sure, I had the flu, am still getting over this damn flu (I’ve never had a cough quite like this…), and am now 36 ½ weeks pregnant, which let’s be honest, disqualifies me from putting together a coherent thought, let alone several strung together.

This was frustrating me, greatly, until I realized the underlying issue: What I am really thinking about, almost constantly these days, is my upcoming labor and delivery.  I hate to admit that I am more nervous this go-round. 

Here I thought that after having my first child I would feel like a “pro” of sorts when it came time for the show, but instead, in my wavering confidence over “should I or should I not attempt a VBAC?” and “What if I end up having another emergency c-section?” or “What if there are complications?”  or… I find myself steeped in uncertainty. 

I want my baby girl here, in my arms, without going through the unknown adventure that lies ahead.  It’s hard to believe now, but before I had Eli I was all confidence about the process, looked forward to it, even.  Sure, I was nervous, didn’t know how gracefully I would/would not handle pain, didn’t know what exactly to expect.  But I never doubted that things wouldn’t go smoothly, that I wouldn’t be able to birth my son naturally.  My pregnancy had been uneventful, save for the typical ailments, and so there was no reason in my mind that things would change once we got in the delivery room.

Naïve?  Yes.  But looking back I long to be that person again, so sure about the process, so certain that my body would do what I wanted it to.  I have no true reason to think that things won’t go well this time.  Again, my pregnancy has been uneventful, complication free.  My heartburn/indigestion is starting to drive me bonkers, the sleepless nights are chipping away at me, but I know these things are temporary and so they are (mostly) easily dismissed.

I have been seeing a chiropractor in the hopes of keeping this baby in a good position, and so far all is well.  Nothing indicates a problem at this point.

And yet…

There is a part of me that can’t let go of the first experience, that is petrified that things will take a wrong turn somewhere and that I will end up in the operating room, again.  That I won’t get to see my baby being born, won’t get to hold her, see her for several hours after her birth.  These are the thoughts that eat at me the most.

The fear is irrational, but isn’t being pregnant a sure and sometimes constant path to irrationality? 

Then there’s the thought of leaving Eli while I am at the hospital.  The truth is, I have not been separated from him for more than five hours, ever.  It’s not my preference that this has been the case, it’s just the way it’s worked given our distance from family and my determination to breastfeed the first year.  So my anxiety not only involves giving birth, it also includes being apart from my firstborn for an extended time.

I am quite sure that in a few weeks I will look back on this time and think to myself, “Well, that was a waste of time and energy, letting yourself get worked up over nothing.”  But in the moment I cannot help it.  I sit here and watch baby girl drag her foot along my increasingly scary-looking stomach (holy stretch marks, veins, and bruised looking belly button this time around, yikes).  I make pacts with her:  “Be nice to Mom, okay?  Let’s just get through this together,” or, “Please don’t get stuck in there.  I promise you’ll like it out here.  Really.” 

I wonder if she senses my anxiety.  Unlike Eli, who was quite mellow even in the womb, she is active and I often feel like she is trying to beat her way out of my stomach already.

We are on the cusp of our next chapter together.  Part of me can’t believe this pregnancy is nearly over.  It has passed so quickly I often feel as though I haven’t slowed down enough to marvel at the process.  Then my brain takes over and wishes her here, now, so I can sit assured, knowing all will be okay. 

I’ve realized that the impending labor and delivery process probably never gets any easier, no matter how many children you’ve had, or how well the process has gone previously. 

I just get disappointed when I let my previous experience cloud my confidence, rattle my nerves.  I know my body is capable of doing this the way it is meant to, and I hope to report very soon that we have welcomed our newest addition: a healthy baby girl.