Pregnancy is weird. I guess in my mind I had always imagined
my pregnancy like someone on TV or in a magazine. My growing stomach would be
the perfect accessory, like a Louis Vutton purse, that people would admire as
soon as I walked into a room. I was going to feel fine, give off a radiating
glow like a pregnant model, and act like the best version of myself. The
reality is that I’m not a pregnant model or the best version of myself by any
means. Most of the time, I’m more like a pregnant hobo with a crappy attitude.
This blog will focus on the physical transformation I have
made thus far.
Heartburn: I swear, I took my second pregnancy test on a
Friday at 6pm and when I laid down for bed that night I had heartburn. I
haven’t suffered much heartburn prior to being pregnant but we are definitely
making up for lost time. It’s so bad that I can feel it radiating up my
esophagus. It wakes me up in the middle of the night. Lately, my nightmares are
of running out of Tums and not being able to get to the store because of bad
weather. I’ve heard that heartburn is a sign that your baby will have lots of
hair when they are born. Well this little girl better come out looking like
Rapunzel. Seriously, I fully expect to deliver the baby and for my midwife to
still be pulling out hair after she is in my arms.
Boobs: The second thing I noticed was my chestal region. I
didn’t need any help in this area but this is where my pregnancy transformation
happened during my first trimester. I was already at a point where finding bras
in my size was limited to one store in town. During my preceptorship, I
remember going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror. My cup literally
runneth over and my uniform was getting tighter. I was forced to wear my lab
coat everyday in an effort to not look like a hussie. From the time I found out
I was pregnant (4 weeks, 3 days) to my first OB appointment (8 weeks) I had
went up 3 sizes. At my 8 week appointment, I asked my midwife if there was
anything I could do…. bind them down, wear a regular bra then three sports bras
over it, cut an onion on the night of a full moon and throw it in the woods
while keeping the other part under my pillow… I was up for anything. She simply
replied, “Prepare to invest in lots of bras.”
This is not what I wanted to hear. Meanwhile, it’s the coldest weather
we’ve had in 20 years and my boobs are so big my coat no longer buttons. My
mother convinced me to buy a fleece cape thing from the Cracker Barrel which I
have worn one time. What’s the problem you ask… first of all never buy your
clothes at a restaurant, second all I’m missing is a monocle and a pipe and I’d
be Sherlock Holmes. Not exactly the pregnancy model look I was going for. I
also get shooting pains in my boobs, mainly the right one. It’s like a Charlie
horse but more stabbing and less of a dull ache. Well what do you do when you
get a Charlie horse? Like any normal person my first response is to rub it out.
This gets me lots of awkward glances at Target. Karl has asked me to please
stop doing this or at least go to the bathroom. I’m working on it. At my 12
week appointment, (the only one Karl has been home for) I asked my midwife what
the stabbing was all about. She said, “It’s just your breast growing.” Karl,
sitting quietly up until this point in a chair in the corner, lets out a loud,
7th grade boy “YES!” while throwing his arm in the air and bringing
his elbow to his waist (you know the move I’m talking about). I looked at him with
cold, dead eyes in front of God and our midwife and said, “I’ll kill you for
doing this to me.”
***On a serious note, if you are reading this and you know
where I can get some freakishly large nursing bras, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!! I
read somewhere that the first bra was made out of two handkerchiefs and a
ribbon. I’m thinking pretty soon I’m going to have to fashion something out of
two tarps and some duct tape. ***
Stomach: I honestly went from looking like a fat girl who
was pretending she was pregnant to being pregnant with twins in four days.
Thankfully, Karl was here to witness this transformation and to validate that I
wasn’t losing my mind. On Sunday night as we laid in bed Karl said, “I was
hoping there would be some kind of a baby bump when I got home this time (I was
at the end of week 17).” I said, “well you
know my sister didn’t really show until she was about 7 months, it might take
me a while since I’m a meaty gal.” He said, “Don’t you ever talk crap about my
wife being a ‘meaty gal’ (his usual response when I say something self
deprecating).” Then we went to bed. Apparently,
the baby heard this conversation and she wanted her presence to be known. For
the next four nights I would lay in bed with a miserably full feeling in my
stomach, I couldn’t get comfortable and things just felt different. Friday
morning when we woke up the proof was in the pudding. Four thin purple lines
were on my stomach. I was devastated. My bikini modeling career was officially
over before it had even begun. Not that I was in any shape to be a bikini model
(I haven’t even worn a bikini since I was 4) but all my hopes and dreams of
going on the Biggest Loser and getting that bikini body were dashed. Karl blew
it off like it wasn’t a big deal. He said, “Babe, what do you think they have Photoshop for? I can’t even see anything. You look fine.” Another thing no one told me about pregnancy
was when I started showing in my stomach it wasn’t a cute round ball. It was
more like I was suffering from a severe case of Dunlap Disease. Even now at 21
weeks I can feel people looking at me thinking, “Is she pregnant or has she
been to the all you can eat buffet about 10 times too many?” I’m thinking of
buying a shirt that says “This is a baby, not a burrito.”
Hair: The next thing I noticed was hair growth. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard about women getting a majestic mane of hair when they are pregnant. It’s kind of like God making up for all the other bad stuff. Well I have a pretty thick rat nest on top of my head anyway so if it’s gotten any thicker I haven’t noticed. But do you know where I have noticed an increase in hair… everywhere else. I’ve always had peach fuzz on my face. Well that peach fuzz has turned into a full grown man beard. What the heck!!! I’ve even noticed peach fuzz growing on my stomach. This is gross. Between the big ole belly and white beard I’ve pretty much turned into Santa Claus. You want proof? Here’s a recent picture:
Clothing: Because of this weird body morphing that’s been
going on I have adopted what I like to call my “Pregnancy Uniform”. Like I
mentioned before, it’s as cold as Antarctic here in the Deep South and my coat
doesn’t fit. Pants make me feel nauseous. I’m in this weird place between
finishing school, taking my boards, and starting my new job. Being dressed on a
daily bases is not a necessity. My
uniform consists of Karl’s royal blue Old Navy fleece pull over and an old pair
of white and black leopard print Old Navy fleece pajama pants. I wear it every
day. I wash it every few days at night when I have on my night gown. I can’t
tell you how many times I’ve slipped out of the house with it on… to run to the
Redbox, Walgreen’s, Sonic, Tiffani’s house, Dominos, etc. I wanted to mention this because if you see me
at the store in my uniform PLEASE PRETEND LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW ME! It’s not that
I don’t want to say “Hi” it’s just that I don’t want to have to feel guilty for
choosing comfort over style.
I feel like I’ve rambled on enough about all this for now.
Next time, I’m going to talk about the emotional stuff like the time I was
practically in tear on the phone with Karl putting out an Amber Alert on a box of Sour Patch Kids.
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