Pregnant no more: how to get your labor started today!

Hey pregnant goddesses!

Are you:

  • Pregnant and want to not be pregnant anymore?
  • Tired of trying spicy foods, sex, red raspberry leaf tea, and other so called “labor starters” with no results?
  • Worried that your baby is cooking too long and getting too big?
  • Feeling like you’ll be pregnant forever?

Well, preggo, I’m happy to say that I’ve got the program to fix all your problems! 

Keep reading to learn all about this innovative, one-of-a-kind program with a 100% success rate of making your baby come out of your body within 24 hours.*

Yes, within 24 hours!

This time tomorrow, you could be NOT pregnant anymore!

There are so many old wives tales out there that promise to kick start your labor. What they all have in common is that they’re myths, and they don’t help you have that baby already. 

You need something different.

You need something that works! 

I want to show you how to get your labor started in the next 24 hours. No gimmicks, no stair climbing, no weird foods. 

I am SO EXCITED to share that for a limited time only, you can get my exclusive, proven labor starter boot camp completely FREE!

This program is perfect for you if you are pregnant and don’t want to be pregnant any more! 

Post-date mamas, I’m looking at YOU! 

That’s right, today is the day YOU take control over your body, and show that baby the door. 

Just think, you could be holding your sweet bundle of joy in your arms tomorrow!!

Let’s get started!

* sample size: 1 

** Hopefully this is glaringly obvious, but in today’s climate you can’t be too careful: this post, this video, this whole concept is NOT SERIOUS. Don’t sue me, thanks.

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On patience

On Father’s Day, I watched my two year old “help” my dad assemble a shelving unit. Her busy little toddler hands sought out the parts he requested, lost half of them on the journey from her grasp to his, and scattered shreds of packaging and packing tape around the room.

A task that would have taken him 10 minutes ballooned into over an hour of this Sunday afternoon, while he taught her the names for various pieces and tools she found and lost.

His patience with her was as revelatory as it was familiar: I have so many childhood memories of assembling furniture or painting walls or completing other household tasks with my dad when the process was the whole point. I always felt like a valuable contributor, a BIG helper, and never like I was burdening or detouring from the finish line.

That incredible patience, too, feels uniquely foreign: if I had to identify my defining character flaws, impatience just might top the list.

The contrast between his tirelessness with that shelving project and my own tendencies was especially striking this weekend: restlessness and anxiety are the mood du jour as I watched my due date come and go, with nary a hint of labor.

No matter how well I intellectually understand that a due date is just a silly guess, that I am still pregnant, four days later, has me on an emotional high wire, second guessing and over interpreting every spark of sciatica and whimper of a would-be contraction.

40 weeks.

Part of me suspects my body is hanging on to this baby because it can’t bear to bring him into this world. Every time I think I’ve hit maximum heartbreak, the relentless cycle of lies and outrage and partisan howling cracks open brand new fissures in my naive understanding of humanity and the nature of progress.

I’m taking a break from the news, and all non-work-related social media. I’ve even taken the long-overdue steps of unfollowing a few people whose posts reliably send me into a tailspin of woe unto the world.

These are steps I should have taken long ago, but in a moment of clarity—thanks to a cleansing, affirming conversation with a friend—I realized that keeping these people as part of my online diet in the name of openness to other points of view was awarding them undeserved power. No longer will these strangers so casually manhandle the levers of my emotional equilibrium.

I won’t step back forever. Stepping back is a luxury and a privilege, and I like being informed so I, too, can howl into the algorithmic void. But right now, I have to chill the fuck out. There’s no vacancy in my headspace for trolls or tribulations. Instead, I’m nurturing my paltry reserves of patience to let this baby boy come on his own terms, in his own time.

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Leaning in and pigging out

These days, I’m hungry all the time. The main way I am getting ready for this baby is by feeding him, at least 5 meals per day. I am really leaning into this ravenous hunger. Two breakfasts has become the norm. Midnight snack, also business as usual. Afternoon snack, always packed.

It’s kind of a funny time to be so promiscuous with my meals, because we’re doing a challenge all about curbing your cravings at Fit Approach. It’s one of those disconnects that might have made my increasingly blurred professional and personal lives feel really inauthentic, but luckily, this is working for me—perhaps not so much in the literal sense of the challenge hashtag, since a more accurate personal hashtag would be #EmbraceYourCravings, but fortunately our partner is helping me tackle two of my perennial nutrition goals: hydration and protein intake.

Our partner is fizzique sparkling protein water. You heard that right, it’s sparkling water with 20g of protein. That is a HUGE chunk of my daily protein goals, in something I actually like to drink. Boom.

The mysterious thing about fizzique is that it’s somehow clear and bubbly even though it’s packed with whey protein. No cloudiness, thickness, or weird aftertaste. Whatever kind of hocus pocus is, I’ll take it.

It comes in two flavors: Strawberry Watermelon and Tropical Limon, both of which I like, but I’m partial to Tropical Limon. If you’re like me and don’t usually drink sweetened beverages (I’m a total curmudgeon about sweetened things, from coffee to yogurt to almond butter, so I realize I’m probably in a grumpy minority here), you might prefer fizzique cut with plain sparkling water. I made myself little mocktails (about half fizzique, half plain sparkling water) that I’d sip on all afternoon as a midday treat / energy boost, and that ratio has me in a happy place, taste-wise. Plus the extra water just means extra hydration, so it feels like the right approach.

If you want to get more creative with mocktails, try these delicious concoctions

One quick note to fellow preggos out there: fizzique does contain some caffeine, so if you’re reducing or avoiding caffeine (I’m clearly not; this book is why), make sure to check the nutritional info / check with your care provider.

protein water

The extra protein is really helpful for (a) making a baby when all I want to eat are carbs and (b) keeping up with my rigorous third trimester workouts, which are increasingly coming from this list.

That said, I’m still planning to participate in the Gixo 5K this Saturday (the race at 9am Central; join me), albeit at a very slow pace.

Want to try fizzique for yourself? Use code LOVEYOURFIZZIQUE for 10% off your first case order (minimum purchase $35) until 7/31/18

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How I became a stronger runner while pregnant

Well, the bar wasn’t that high, to be honest. I’m a chronic dabbler in short-form running. How many times have I started the Couch to 5K program? Too many to count. How many times have I finished it? A handful. How consistent have I been about running, even short distances? Not at all.

Up until last year, that is, when two beautiful life events colluded to make me a more consistent runner.

  1. A friend and neighbor asked me to run with her every Monday morning before work, and assured me she not much of a runner—aka not too fast.
  2. Fit Approach started partnering with Gixo, which offers live coached fitness classes, including runs, and I felt compelled to give all the class formats a try. Because it’s for work. 

I guess there’s really a third life event that is important to this story, and it’s that I got pregnant, and the first trimester was unpleasant but nowhere near the evil mistress she was with my first.

Anyway, thanks to the happy coincidence of these things, I’ve made a dramatic shift in a few habits: I’m running way more consistently than I ever have before—to the tune of 3-4 times per week—and believe it or not, up until third trimester hit, I was actually getting faster and stronger. As I got more pregnant.

So fucking weird I almost can’t believe I’m writing those words.

Not weird, I guess, to everyone out there who recognizes, that duh, consistency is the name of the game when it comes to fitness or any other skill you’re working to develop.

And, guess what, I don’t hate it. Running, that is. Or, I am distracted enough by either my run buddy or by the Gixo coaches that I can actually not focus on counting down the seconds or the tenths of a mile until I can stop.

It’s also been the perfect solution to my #momlife crisis of finding time for myself and for fitness. Another weird (for me) habit I’ve developed is getting up early most weekday mornings. I do a 6 am run or workout, shower, drink coffee, and even have a few minutes to myself before the rest of the house is awake. Life-changing, that pre-sunrise quiet is.

None of these results are revolutionary, of course— so many people in my community figured this basic shit out years and years before I did, and have been singing its praises for forever. It just took the lifestyle crimp of toddlerhood + chronic excess of competing top priorities (#workingmom) to push me into trying something new.

If you want to join me, the training program I’m following is free, and you can get a 7-day free trial of Gixo to try the classes that are part of the program, or to participate in race day on May 5. Full disclosure: I’m getting free access to Gixo classes because they’re a partner, but the subscription price is one I’d pay in a heartbeat.

Speaking of working motherhood, this interview with Selina Tobaccowala  is the best I’ve read on the topic. There are no generic platitudes about priorities and self-care; just honest, practical examples of what sacrifices and decisions she makes as she wins at both business and parenthood. Reading her example about what she chooses to say yes or no to was a liberating moment for me: there’s no capitulating to the ‘should’ or the mommy guilt; she just makes decisions that work for her and her family. Now that’s #girlboss.

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Sometimes you can have it both ways

Last time I was pregnant, I read all the earth goddess birthing books and was thoroughly convinced that hospitals were anti-woman assembly lines of procedural misery. Ina May Gaskin and Ricki Lake and a host of other birthing gurus delivered up via Amazon algorithms made me feel empowered and inspired to trust my body to give birth. Their message that birthing is natural, that we are born for this, that our bodies know better than anyone, reverberated with every feminist, girl power instinct in my soul. I was sold. I would give birth, at home, powered by yogi breathing and soothed by “nature’s epidural” (a birthing tub). I’d feel connected to the universe and the stars and billions of women who had gritted and squatted and groaned before me.

Like any good birth plan, mine was a complete fantasy.

Birthing brought me to my knees and kept me there long after I’d crawled through the revolving door at the hospital. It took me months to lick my wounds and fully process the experience. I imagine hormones and sleeplessness contributed to my moving past the traumatic parts, to beginning to forget the hardest moments, to even having lost bodily memory of what the worst parts felt like.

What I’m left with is the acceptance that things turned out just fine, and that while most of it I’m happy to let time soften and blur, there are pieces of what happened that I would like to repeat: namely, midwives and the epidural.

The midwives I worked with were nothing short of wonderful. Our appointments were relationship focused, highly personal, validating, and thoughtful. And on time, too. My pre- and post-natal care was beautiful.

The epidural is something I would log in my gratitude journal every single day for the rest of my life, if I were a person who kept a gratitude journal.

This time around,  I think I’m going into it a bit more clearsighted than last time. I (think) I have no illusions of control, though I’m sure this baby and this birth will prove me wrong, again, in ways I can’t yet fathom.

But, one thing I think I’m doing right, is that I’m cherrypicking those two best things about the first time, and I’m having it both ways. After a brief stint of prenatal care with an OB (who was great, but wow, a whole different model of care) I’m back to the home birth midwives I worked with during my first pregnancy. I’m getting that lovely, low-intervention, and respectful care I loved so much, but I’m also having a planned hospital birth. My midwives are so women-friendly—and so understanding that the experience of birth isn’t a one-size-fits-all—that they  100% support my desire for drugs. When the time comes, I’ll go to the hospital, and one of them will come with me as my doula.

I have no doubt this birth will bring me to my knees in brand new ways. But I’m pretty happy with this ‘plan’ and that I (might) get to have it both ways: the earth mother pre- and post-natal care, plus all the miracles of modern medicine.

We’ll see in what ways this turns out to be a fantasy, too.

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