So I couldn’t decide if I should load this post up with some standard peppiness or if I should just be real with you guys.
And now that I’ve told you that…let’s go with real.
I’m having an off day. More specifically, a “Wow I’m a Giant Pregnant Lady” day. Feeling large but not very in charge. And just a little bit frustrated that I don’t get to look how I “want” to look when pregnant.
I know, boo hoo right? What a stupid thing to complain about. But the feeling is there, and I can’t pretend it’s not.
Don’t get me wrong: I still feel healthy, and even fit. I’m working out–probably more than at any earlier point in this pregnancy, actually–eating pretty well, keeping my stress levels down, and doing everything in my power to ensure that this baby is born healthy and strong. I’m checking off all the boxes.
But my body’s still ultimately in charge, and it’s doing what it thinks is best. My vanity is nowhere on its list of priorities, and it shouldn’t be.
And yet…when I see other pregnant women with teeny-tiny bumps, or I read pregnancy updates from other bloggers listing teeny-tiny weight gain numbers (and workout stats that are impressive even for a non-preggo)…the feeling creeps back in. I should look like that.
The reality, of course, is that pregnancy is just as unique as every other element of our physical bodies. It looks different on everyone. It feels different on everyone. It is different for everyone.
And as much as our brains tell us we can, we can’t actually measure health by looking at people anyway–especially pregnant women. Some women are unable to put on weight during pregnancy because of intense illness. Some overdo it, physically, and end up with other problems–some potentially scary for the baby. Others watch what they eat and still pack on the pounds.
Pregnancy isn’t about living up to some ideal–either someone else’s or our own. It’s about getting out of our body’s way and letting it do what it’s designed to do, in whatever way it’s designed to do it.
So today, I’m working on humbling myself. This isn’t about me, anyway. It’s about the tiny human being my body is making, who I’ll get to meet in two months (!!).
In the meantime, I can blame hormones for all this, right??