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. 😉
I had to decline the wine (*sniff*) but did get all sorts of individual attention from a bravangelist. She asked me about my lifestyle and favorite activities, and handpicked an assortment of bras for me to try.
Most of them were bras I would never pick up for myself, and fit like a dream. How amazing is it to have a personal shopper who pushes you out of your comfort zone? (Or, in this case, into your comfort zone?) I ended up going home with the 3 reasons bra from Moving Comfort, a silky dream of a bra that… wait for it… will also work for nursing.
Again, my bravangelist’s genius at work: it never would have occurred me to to look for that feature in a sports bra. #somuchtolearn
In addition to this awesome bra, there was a swag bag chock full of amazing goodies from Aveda, Osmo, Skinny Pop, and of course Title Nine.
Hands down the BEST part of the event, though, was running into Lora from Crazy Running Girl. We’ve known each other online for years (and even met in person once, many years ago) but have been struggling to actually get together in Austin.
I’ve already put my new bra to the test with a handful of workouts:
Okay, enough about me and my bras. The best news is that (a) you can go have a date with a bravangelist, too. Austinites, head over to Title Nine this Wednesday and Thursday, October 14 and 15 for a free fitting with a bravangelist. RSVP here.
And (b) I get to give away a free bra to one of you! It comes with a #bravengelist fitting so you know you’ll be getting the right one. (If you’re not close to a Title Nine store, you can do it online or via phone).
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.
So, this thing happened this week. I’ve been doing lots of yoga, because statistically yogis have shorter, easier labors, and I’m really trying to keep both of us happy and healthy.
One day in class, with a teacher I’d never taken from before, things were going along just swimmingly. I staked out a place by the wall so I could invert with backup, I kept my twists open, and I alternated shallow chaturangas with camel poses for my vinyasa.
We did some core work, all of which, for the record, I participated in, because it felt fine. Then, as we stood back up for the next pose, the instructor walked toward me, patted his lower abdomen a couple times, and said,
“Now THAT’s what you need to work on.”
I was so confused by his statement I just kind of stared at him. I hadn’t told him I was pregnant before class, so I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my baby bump, or if he was making a criticism about a supposed beer belly.
After class, during the put away your props and find your shoes shuffle, he said to me, “How’s that working out for you?”
“How’s WHAT working out?” I asked, and I think I saw him flinch.
“Movement. Yoga. You know, fitness,” was his copout response.
“Great.” I said. “I’m pregnant, so I modify, but overall I feel great.”
He then proceed to mansplain to me why yoga was so important during pregnancy and what muscles I should focus on to make birth easier.
Needless to say, I got out of there as fast as I could. I’m still not sure if he was aware that I was preggo when he made that first comment about my stomach, but either way, so inappropriate!!
It took me a couple days to process. I kept doubting myself and my reaction to that comment in class.
Did that really happen? Maybe I misheard? Surely it wasn’t done with any kind of ill intent, so I should just let it go.
At the end of the day, it’s really NOT a big deal. Yes, it’s wholly inappropriate, and potentially super offensive, but a remark like that shouldn’t have preyed on my thought patterns for a matter of days. What is a big deal is the mental gymnastics I went through trying to decide if my own experience deserved trusting. I can’t believe I didn’t believe my own ears, or that I went through the motions of making apologies for what was probably just a foot-in-the-mouth dumbass slip of a comment.
Isn’t the whole point of yoga trusting your body, your experience, and your intuition?
Here’s what I’ve come down to, after a couple of days of ruminating:
I’m never going back to that class.
Giving birth is pretty much the last thing I’d like to get mansplained about.