you know how i’ve been complaining a lot about pregnancy shit? and you know how like, every woman in the world, even if or when she’s in the zone of “this is a beautiful thing and i’m bringing life into the world and it’s all sunshine and roses” still feels like she looks like a whale and maybe her insignificant other is considering leaving her for that cute blonde at the starbucks and shit? i haven’t had much of that.
i started off my sixth week of pregnancy at 99lbs. i had/have been an anorexic see-saw since i was about 7 years old. i’m going on 26, now. so one of the first things i thought of after finding out that i was going to have this baby, after the “i wonder how long this will last” thought, was that i was going to get fat and i had to get used to that. there’s only been two things i’ve ever constantly wanted in my life – to be a mommy and to be skinny without people mentioning that i was too skinny. and i knew they couldn’t coexist.
so for some reason, having sort of mentally prepared myself for feeling like a whale and verging on suicidal tendancies, i’ve lucked out and gained weight a little heftier than say a supermodel would. 35lbs of it, that shows mostly all in my tummy and chest. the rest of the body seems to have just…softened a little. so, here’s what i love about my pregnant body:
- my boobs: when they’re at least 50% fake, you gotta love it when they start to shake. they never jiggled since getting them done. kinda bounced together like tennis balls but never like jello would. now, they may not bring all the boys in the yard, but they’re wiggling and wobbling enough to make me feel like a girl.
- my ass: i’ve never had an ass, and especially not since getting to a regular weight of 100lbs and under in the past few years. it was “skinny flabby” which means tiny, but saggy and full of concaves instead of bubbles. now, my ass jiggles and though still small, i almost fill out a pair of panties. that’s a serious accomplishment for my ass.
- my calves: they’ve become muscular from walking and climbing stairs with the baby weight. my ostriche legs have moved to chicken drumstick potential, with curves and stuff.
- my milk ducts: it’s weird, but i feel like i’m accomplishing something, being able to express colostrum both at will and spontaneously. as if i really have anything to do with this. but it’s the equivalent of holding up a finger painting and saying “i made this.” i deserve a gold star.
- my depression: while agoraphobia and anxiety and downness are still part of my everyday fight, i think that my mood swings have been less than the norm for a pregnant chick. and that is me being off of medication. some men tell horror stories about offering up ice cream as a proactive defense. about having things thrown at them and never being able to do anything right. about an evil spouse who could turn her head around 360 degrees and projectile spew pea soup. i’ve mellowed and become calmer and less plan-oriented and OCDish. i don’t cry for no reason as much and i don’t fly into undeserved flights of rage. the rage is still there, but it’s only coming out if you provoke it. and i don’t have weekly planning sessions for my death – they’re for my life.
