I’m somewhere on the cusp between 2nd and 3rd trimesters, and holy hell, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
After a (not hard, not fast) hike yesterday morning, the fatigue knocked me flat on my back. I spent the afternoon clearing out my DVR, tagging #sweatpink shoelaces, and snuggling Tigger.
Not a bad Saturday afternoon by any measure, but I’m so not ready to say goodbye to the honeymoon second trimester, with all its energy and raging appetite.
Days like this also make me wish for a couch-time wine pairing. I settled for kombucha in a wine glass, which felt almost like having a real drink.
This change also reminds me that, holy shit, we’re so close to her actually being here. Just 85 days until my due date, says my app. I have a mile-long to-do list before then and at this rate it’s going to take me 800 days to get ‘er done.
On the bright side, I’m starting to feel very zen about the birth. I think I’ve saturated myself in enough natural birth books to start to believe that my body can handle this, and that while it will be harder and hurt more than I can possibly imagine, I can do this. And I have the right support team in place to help make it happen.
We’ll see how long that blissed-out attitude lasts. 😉
You had hiccups this morning, baby girl. You woke me up with that strange, regular pulsating in my far right abdomen. Did you maybe have too much to drink last night? Did you go out with our houseguests until 3am? 😉
Not to worry if you missed out. You have a lifetime of shenanigans ahead of you. Hopefully you’ll wait a while before you really get wild, but not as long as I did. I probably won’t think so in a few years, so take note now, and rub it in my face later: risk taking is good.
This is the first time I’ve written to you. Plenty of times I’ve written about you, but until you had hiccups, I didn’t feel inspired to write to you. Now I think it’s clicked for me that you’re a person who will have random quirks and uncontrollable laughter and independent interests and strange mishaps and occasional hiccups.
Someday, you’ll find my by then long-forgotten pregnancy blog and be super embarrassed and think I’m a complete dork. You’ll be right on both counts.
You are really making my belly stick out now. It’s not really a cute basketball bump like they show on TV – more of a sloping protuberance. But that’s okay. My stomach has never looked like the ones on TV, and there’s no reason that should change now.
I’ve gained 20 pounds, thanks to you. Or at least, I’m going to pretend it’s thanks to you, and that the potato chips have nothing to do with the highest number I’ve ever clocked in at. The thing is, I don’t feel like I’ve gained 20 pounds. I’m softer in all the likely places. But the only place I’m gaining that actually bothers me is my face. Did you have to go and make my face fat?!
Okay, you’re right, that was probably all the sodium in the potato chips.
Less than 4 months until you show up. I’m super nervous about that. You don’t have a name or a carseat or any winter clothes yet. Also, historically, infants aren’t really my jam. I’m counting on you to inspire that heady cocktail of mom-love hormones and change that for me, forever.
If you’re following along on our #BOSUStrong Challenge, today’s prompt is #FreeFriday. Just show us what you got, no matter what it is, and tag @BOSU_fitness @fitapproach #BOSUStrong #sweatpink
The last few weeks have been very much a time of transition. I’m watching my body shape shift before my eyes, and Moonshine has been kicking up a storm. She wakes me up in the morning with her ferocious little jabs, then celebrates with a happy dance after every meal and in every savasana. (She’s clearly my and Nathan’s daughter; eating is already her favorite activity).
All this movement, and the increasing proportion of clothes in my closet that just don’t work anymore, is making this whole baby business a hell of a lot more real.
I had a moment, last week, while I was walking the dog. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, wearing what had become my uniform for the last two weeks or so: branded cotton tank, wrinkled maternity shorts, and birkenstocks.
I have this rule for myself. Basically, the ONLY real rule I have for myself: don’t go outside looking like a homeless person. Just because pajamas are my default state of being doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to experience my tattered sweats, sleep creased face, and crazy hair.
I had drifted really, really close to breaking my cardinal rule. It’s a slippery slope, y’all. And while I could push the boundaries while we were in Tahoe—where dusty outdoor gear is the universal uniform—it doesn’t blend in so well in downtown Austin.
More than that, my clothing complacency was just an index for what was happening in the rest of my life: I was slipping. Meal planning and grocery shopping was basically nonexistent. Planning for the baby (and maternity leave?) was something I had been avoiding. My exercise was getting haphazard (and occasionally offensive).
Something had to change. Many things had to change. I had to get my butt in gear and start owning this big thing creeping up on me and my waist size.
I started with the clothes: I went and got myself some maternity-friendly tops so I could pretend to be more put together when I left the house. I even invested in a maternity LBD that will carry me through a couple fall weddings and the holiday season.
I started grocery shopping, and actually making myself delicious, nutritious things to eat. Moonshine is doing all sorts of happy dances.
I’m also diversifying my snacking opportunities (since I find myself needing to eat every couple of hours, I was in a serious snacking rut). My Bulu Box provided just that opportunity to change it up without having to commit to new products at the grocery store.
The chicken jerky, especially, is rocking my damn world. I haven’t been much on the meat train, for whatever reason, but for some reason this salty savory jerky is the exception to my meat aversion rule. Probably because I fall immediately in love with anything that involves basil. Hooray for lean protein! (Happy dances are happening).
My Hemp Heart Bites are making a regular appearance in my purse, too. I love having little protein rich snacks handy at all times, and these are chock full of omegas (so good for Moonshine’s brain development!).
Then I tackled the work thing (or at least, started to). After reading a ton on the internets, trying to find other moms-to-be who run their own businesses, and trying to figure out just how they managed TWO babies without letting either one suffer, I decided I just need to create my own reality.* I made myself a Do-or-Die-Before-Baby list so I can make my absence easier for my team, and I’m actively trying to make myself dispensable so that as few people as possible are depending on me.
I’m feeling so much better already. So much more in control of my life, my health, my career. There’s still a lot of opportunity to improve – but all trends are pointing in the right direction.
p.s. You can get 50% off a 3-month subscription to Bulu Box with the code SWEATPINK.
p.p.s. You can get 15% off Hemp Heart Bites with the code HHBitesLaunch15. You can also enter to win a case of Hemp Hearts by sharing a photo of how you and your family stay active and tagging @manitobaharvest #hhbites!
* That said, if you’re someone who had a baby and runs her own business, and wants to keep running her own business, I would LOVE to hear how you did it. I’m really struggling with this, and my online searching was pretty unfruitful.
I received the BOSU, Hemp Heart Bites, and the Bulu Box for free. All opinions and life plans are my own. 🙂 Thanks for supporting the brands who support the Sweat Pink Community.
Last week, I got hit HARD by allergies. I actually blame the state of Wyoming: as we were driving through on our road trip, I hit some wall of pollen. It’s no fun driving when your nose and eyes continually leak, and you’re coughing and snotting out of control.
Sorry, that got a little graphic.
By the time I made it to Austin, I was literally too allergic to function. When you can’t take the allergy drugs you’re used to, you end up singlehandedly destroying an entire rainforest with your kleenex consumption. I couldn’t get anything done: making dinner, taking the dog for a walk, laundry, and sleeping were all off the table.
Fun fact: When I had an allergy skin test done, I had a full on anaphylactic reaction, and got shot up with an epi pen, benadryl, prednisone, and albuterol. Despite the swarming of 5 or 6 medical professionals and hasty application of medications, my results were 100% negative. I am allergic to literally nothing. Zip. Zero.
After a call to my midwife and a LOT of googling, I gave in and took a Benadryl. Temporary relief, yes. Permanent solution? No.
I know, I know I should use a neti pot. I will try one, someday. I can’t help but get grossed out by it.
BUT. My sister-in-law (midwife) told me the best natural way to get rid of allergies was to drink a gallon of this tea every day:
I’m not going to lie. These kinds of remedies usually fall into my crackpot category. But hey, I had nothing to lose but my misery, and the box of kleenex permanently affixed to my hands, so I gave it a try. Since it’s so damn hot here, I’m drinking a gallon of the iced stuff every day.
At least, I’m allergy free. I’m back to just the usual pregnancy-induced congestion, which is totally manageable.
I don’t know if it was the tea, or just getting the hell out of Wyoming and breathing in enough Texas air to wash away lingering offenders.
One of the most amazing things about having spent the last few weeks in Tahoe is how little time I’m spending on my hair and makeup. I think I’ve literally worn makeup twice in the last month, and blowdried my hair exactly zero times.
The lifestyle up here is so different from downtown Austin, where people are well dressed and always more put together (oh, the pressure!). And while I love looking nice, I am so appreciating this little respite from having to spend time thinking about all of that. I’ve pretty much been living in my swimsuit and maternity shorts (yay maternity shorts!), and I haven’t seen a full length mirror in weeks. There’s absolutely no pressure here to look or be dressed a certain way. If anything, there’s a preference for “I just finished a hike and haven’t showered in days” aesthetic.
The timing for an uber-casual environment couldn’t be more perfect, during this awkward sort-of-showing phase, and as my body softens and shape shifts into something that behaves so differently than what I’m used to.
Of course, there’s always the internet to distort our fantasies of how we look and feel. In my trawling of other pregnancy blogs, I stumbled upon a picture of a woman a few weeks ahead of me – 22 weeks to be exact – and she looked AMAZING. Not an ounce of fat on her, just a clearly defined bump on an otherwise beautifully toned figure. Her workout schedule for the week was way more ambitious than anything I’ve ever done, even pre-pregnancy.
I’m embarrassed to say I fell right into that pesky comparison trap.
Why don’t I look like that?
Ugh, why am I not working out like she does?
Then I bounced right back out of it. She looked adorable, she’s rocking those workouts, and that’s awesome for her.
For the most part, I’ve been enjoying being a little softer, a little rounder than before, and am doing my best to be comfortable with my pants no longer buttoning, especially while I just look bloated, not pregnant. My midwife encouraged me to gain at least 30 pounds, and to eat to my (constant) hunger. That part has been fun, as long as I have food handy.
Then, of course, I totally crashed, and it’s taking a few days to bounce back from these flu-like body aches and fatigue. Now that all our guests are gone and the house is quiet and lonely, I’m taking some time to rest and recover. I’m trying to do away with the self-judging and surrender to my need for more rest and more moderation.
I’m not even halfway through, but I think the biggest lesson I’ve learned from being pregnant so far is gratitude. Gratitude for being able to get pregnant and (knock on wood) stay healthy while pregnant. Gratitude for what my body can do, especially in those moments when it feels utterly incapable of anything but gestating on the couch.
And, of course, gratitude for maternity pants and potato chips. 🙂