Well, girl…the more and more you’re making yourself comfortable in mama’s belly, the more and more mama’s getting uncomfortable these days. That’s a given as you grow, but boy, are you making mama reevaluate how I spend my energy! You’re like a stress indicator for me. The more stressed out or agitated I am, I notice that you wiggle around and kick me more as if to tell me “Slow down, mama!” I’m going to do a better job listening to you, okay?
These days, I have days where I’m all “I AM PREGNANT WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR!” And some(most) days where I’m all “I AM PREGNANT WOMAN, LAY OFF!!!!!”
Generally speaking, I’m feeling…well…PREGNANT.
I mean, duh, right? One would think, but it’s been kicking my butt and wearing me out physically and emotionally and it’s really caught me off guard. Â When I was pregnant with Ellie, I don’t really recall being truly uncomfortable until literally the last couple weeks of my pregnancy. Â I worked until two days before I went into labor, and that was only because I caught a cold the weekend before and figured I should take a break and take it easy. Â And I never got to the point where I said “I’m ready. I want this over with.” Â Partly because of the fear of the unknown ahead of me, but also because I never really got to that point of discomfort.
This time? Â Ugh. I am Just. So. Tired. All. The. Time. By default I am always tired. And I hate that. I don’t recognize myself most of the time and it makes me irritable, agitated, weepy, and cranky. I am someone who took Bikram yoga where you do 90 minutes of yoga in a room at 105 degrees temperature and 40% humidity and enjoyed it. I am someone who can run on 2 hours of sleep and adrenalin if I have to. I am someone who never leaves the dance floor to take a break when I’m dancing. I am someone who would rather jog in heels than walk in flip flops. I am someone who has a tendency to push myself harder the more tired I am to see how far I can go. I am someone who people ask “What are you on, and can I have that?!”
So needless to say, my threshold being challenged by this pregnancy has been a rude awakening for me. When my mind wants to do so much more but physically I just can’t keep going, forcing myself to stop has been a challenge. I never wanted to be “that girl” who uses the pregnancy card, but I’m having to ask for more help at work when it comes to the physical stuff too. I am so thankful for Matt for being such an involved parent with Ellie that she has a parent who is able to give her undivided focus and attention, get down on the floor and wrestle with her, chase her around, and just play and be with her. Most nights when I get home from work I am so worn out from the day that all I can do is lie on the couch and talk with her.
I don’t appreciate the whole cranky, weepy thing either. I decided to name her my pregnant alter ego Velma. Velma is always tired, sore, snaps easily, nags, whines, and weeps pathetically. In short, she’s a big B. Velma can make an appearance the moment she wakes up in the morning already exhausted, and she tries to get up from bed and realizes how sore her body is. She will weep on the couch when she gets home from work and is so upset with how tired she is. She gets annoyed at work when sitting on a chair for an extended period of time or standing and walking to do anything both hurts and exhausts her. She gets irritated when her ego won’t allow her to ask for help at work thus resulting in either not getting the work done efficiently and quickly, or hurting herself by pushing herself too hard. Sometimes she just wants to walk around with a t-shirt that says “I’M MAKING A HUMAN BEING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Or “IT’S NOT ME. IT’S YOU.” Basically, Velma is a pain. I don’t even like her, so I can’t imagine Matt enjoying being with her either. Poor guy. Especially when Eloise makes an appearance too.
However, I will admit that this new phase in this pregnancy has been an ironic, unwelcome but necessary push to prioritize my needs and literally take care of myself. The less Velma is around, the more pleasant I am, and more peace I am able to create with those around me.(and save Matt’s sanity) I am learning the art of Letting Go. I know that I just need to get over it. And I am. Slowly. And as if to say “I told you so,” my body and mind totally responds to that.
I sleep with my boyfriend in bed now. And by “boyfriend,” I’m referring to my body pillow. No more cuddling with Matt. He moves too much anyway. My boyfriend needs to keep me stable. I got a hot pink pillow cover for him, because pink makes me happy and I figured that’s what my boyfriend should do for me too. I know there are special pillows for pregnant women, but those cost a fortune. My cheap and reliable $10 boyfriend from Target is doing just fine.
When I’m home, you can see me in my beloved clouds-and-rainbow(if only they had unicorns on them too) Nick & Nora sleep shirt, waddling around with circulation socks(helps with the swelling) and a maternity support band(helps with the lower back pain), wearing what I lovingly refer to as my “big mama underpants.” They are basically maternity underwear from Japan that covers your entire belly and goes all the way up in the back too. Yup. There’s no place for Victoria and her secrets when it comes to pregnancy and comfort.
I gave in to naps too. I’m not a napper and never nap.(I can count on both hands the number of naps I took my entire years in college) Oh, how they feel nice. I’ve also resigned to activities with Ellie that I can do comfortably with her instead of feeling guilty for what I can’t do. Weather permitting, when I go for a walk with her and she wants to stop and examine every single rock, branch, tree, leaf, etc, that’s okay. Because it keeps me moving slow too.
I even ordered my first pair of Crocs. Yes. Those who know me would beÂ horrified by this statement. Matt was. If I wasn’t carrying his second child, he would’ve protested to the core. Or de-friend me on Facebook. Crocs are like wearing pajama pants in public. To me, there is no such thing as “cute flats” either. Flats are not cute on someone who is 4’11” with short legs. I do own a few pairs, but mostly just to humor myself in those rare “emergency cases.” Like I said, I’d rather jog in my heels than walk in flip flops. But I broke down and ordered Crocs’ less style challenged, somewhat “cute” ballet flats. If this isn’t “letting go,” I don’t know what is. I’m doing this all for you, Bunnee.
I’m doing my best to take better care of myself. To pace myself, to say “no.” To ask for help. To truly rest. To keep Velma at bay. And remind myself daily to just be grateful that I am healthy, that Bunnee is healthy. While these discomforts are not pleasant, I understand that they are expected, and manageable. I am growing a real human being inside of me after all. It’s a pretty big deal, right?
But sometimes, even my best efforts can’t control the hormonal mood swings. So if you see me, but encounter Velma, I’m sorry. If she offends you, it wasn’t me. That was her. She could probably get into a good verbal spat with Joan Rivers over the worst dressed, but arguing with her otherwise would be pointless. Yes, I’m going to go ahead and be “that girl” and use the pregnancy card and blame it on the pregnancy. Snap.