If someone asked me what my current favorite hobby is, I would say food. 100% food. The carb-ier the food, the better. And I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m in love with food right now. It happens every time I’m pregnant. Pretty much as soon as I stop feeling sick, I immediately switch to “shovel in all the things” mode. The thing is, it’s much easier to get away with that in the 2nd trimester. During that time, you’re still fairly active, you’re not uncomfortable, you still have plenty of room for a baby and a food baby to exist simultaneously. It’s a magical time. But once the 3rd trimester hits, game over. Oh, you still want to eat everything, and you do eat everything, but then it has nowhere to go. (By the way, when I say “you”, I mean “me”. I do this.) So now, after I enjoy an over-serving of Indian food, I’m graced with waves of nausea, heartburn, and wet burps. You heard me. Wet. Burps.
This digression really began after I did my glucose test. About a month and a half ago, I got to drink the sugary drink that everyone says is disgusting but I think is actually pretty tasty. They made me wait an hour. Then they drew my blood to test for diabetes. I didn’t think too much of it, until I had a voicemail from my doctor’s office saying to call them. I knew this HAD to mean bad news, because if it was something routine or benign, they just would’ve told me in the message. I knew it HAD to mean I had diabetes. This was the pregnancy it was going to happen. I just knew it. So, I was pleasantly surprised to call back and discover that, no, I did not have diabetes. In fact, my blood sugar was a little low, so I needed to make sure to eat snacks, especially protein-based snacks, between meals. OMG. Best. News. EVER!!!! …except, I interpreted “protein-based snacks” as cookies, and candy, and brownies, and all of the sweet treats!! Oh, and cheese. Cheese in all its forms. Sure, you might say I was indulging, but really, I was following my doctor’s orders. I was doing it for my baby!!! Then, at my next doctor’s appointment 4 weeks later, I found out I had gained 6 pounds…in 4 weeks… Sooooo….that was exciting news. In the scheme of things, it’s fine. I’m probably going to gain what I gained in my other pregnancies. And it’s fine. Sure, I’m going to be 40 more pounds of person during the hottest time of the year. But IT’S FINE!!!
Speaking of heat, can it stop being so fucking hot already?? Honestly. For only being June, I’ve already had record amounts of under-boob sweat. So much sweat. The surprising thing is, it hasn’t been as awful as I’ve anticipated. Granted, I still have 2 months to go, and it should only get hotter from now until then, but I haven’t been as miserable as I thought I’d be. Maybe I’ve mentally prepared myself for the worst, so I’m able to manage it. Also, I sweat like a monster in the summertime, pregnant or not. So at least being pregnant I have an excuse and can eke out some sympathy from strangers. “See that waddling woman with a glistening sweat mustache? Ugh, what a…oh wait…is she pregnant? Poor thing…”
The waddling seems to have set in a little earlier this pregnancy. I’m starting to enter the “movements are uncomfortable” part of this journey, so somehow that results in me swaying aggressively side-to-side with each step I take. I’ve been trying to stay fairly active. I started out so strong with that half marathon, and then I guess I figured that could suffice as the total amount of exercise this pregnancy. Running doesn’t work so well anymore. I feel too nervous about tripping and falling over, and once I stop running, it feels a little like my pelvis is cracking in half. So, that can’t be good. The frustrating thing is, even walking is starting to give me that sensation. WALKING! The easiest form of exercise. You know videos or images you’ve seen in school or books that show how the earth’s continents really started out as 1 big land mass and then slowly separated into different chunks? That’s what I imagine is happening with my pelvis. Each step I take is creating a larger space between continents. Science.
I have been able to keep up with my Body Pump classes. And the answer to your question is yes, a 31-week pregnant person doing body pump looks as ridiculous as you would imagine it does. Last week, I wore a maternity workout tank top to the gym. It’s a super comfortable shirt, but leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. I mean, you know exactly where my belly button is and how fucking weird its shape and size is. Anyways, at one point during the class, the instructor asked everyone to look in a side mirror to check their form. As I turned to view my side profile, I think I let out a semi-horrified gasp. I don’t know what I was expecting, but man, there is definitely a growing baby in that fat ass belly. As I’ve gotten bigger, I’ve had to modify for different parts of the class. For example, instead of loading up weight to use during squats, I basically just use my ever-increasing body weight. I also have to keep the bench at an incline and do a series of weird maneuvers to get up and down during the bench press part. For awhile, I tried to keep up with the abs workout, just using a slightly inclined bench. But eventually, it became difficult to know exactly where my abs are. Do they exist anymore? Have they begun to separate like my pelvic continents? Who knows. All I know is during 1 class I tried to attempt a hover, and when I looked down my stomach was no longer round but more pyramid shaped, and I thought, “ummm, fuck this”. Later, abs.
I was really worried this summer would drag on forever since I’m no longer working and the boys don’t have school. So far, it’s been ok. We’ve been fairly busy and (as always) I have lots of help from family and friends. The boys really like going to the pool, and besides the time it takes to lather up my whale body with sunscreen, the pool has been fantastic for me as well. It’s nice for the boys, they get to have some active outside time without melting, and I get some relief from the heat and fucking humidity. I try not to feel too self-conscious in my maternity suit. I have 2 different “tankini” tops that work well, but unavoidably make my boobs look like sad sausages. Don’t ask me why that’s the image that comes to mind, but for some reason it is. It’s like they look skinny, length-wise, like link sausages, but they’re falling down. Like someone is dropping 2 link sausages. But instead of hitting the ground, they’ve come to rest on top of my fat belly. That’s what it looks like. I also had to buy some new bottoms, because somehow the ones I had became crusty? Nothing says, “you’re disgusting” like a crusty old pair of swimsuit bottoms. So I bought some generic black ones at Target. Of course, I needed a size up from what I usually wear, but overall they have worked well. They aren’t bikini style, though, they’re more like spandex shorts. In fact, I probably could’ve just used some spandex shorts I have from my volleyball days. They are just as long as those. And before you go judging my stylistic choices for a suit, know that: 1. I don’t give a shit, and 2. I’m much happier knowing that whatever situation is happening down in that region (because who the fuck knows what’s happening down there anymore), it’s going to be covered. I’m sure I already get plenty of looks/genuine confusion regarding the sausage link boobs and the offensive paleness, I don’t need any other questioning looks targeting my lady bit situation. Uh-UH!
As the boys continue to get older, the general trend that has surfaced is: some shit gets easier and some shit gets shittier. For example, Adam is old enough to understand more things. He still loses his patience and wants what he wants when he wants it, but he can be talked into or out of things and bribed fairly easily. He will even offer up his help every now and then. However, this means he’s also smart enough to manipulate. Manipulate me and, of course, manipulate Nick. Lying has become a fun, new behavior. And he is a shitty ass liar. To be fair, he gets himself into lose-lose situations quite frequently. The most common scenario is: Nick has a toy that Adam wants. Adam takes the toy from him by force (grabbing, pushing, etc.). Nick cries. I ask what happens and Adam says, “nuffing”. Me: “Did you push Nick?” Him: …”no…” Me: “If you’re lying you’re going to be in more trouble. Did you push Nick?” Him: “….” Me: “Yes or no?” Him: “I don’t know!” Me: “Yes or no?!” Him: “Yes, but I wanted…bla bla bla” Me: “Timeout.” So really, attempting to lie is probably his best bet at avoiding punishment, since he’s likely going to get punished anyways. It’s a tricky situation. And Nick is definitely not always the innocent one…
Nick is a stubborn little shit. And as my patience continues to dwindle with every pound I gain, I find myself getting in more and more battles with him. The most recent one was at breakfast. I asked what the boys wanted to eat. Which, by the way, is a terrible fucking idea. Why do I ask them what they want? They are CHILDREN! Why I don’t just decide what I’m going to make and then force them to eat it, I don’t know. Maybe I innately enjoy fighting with 2-yr-olds. Either way, I ask if he wants some scrambled eggs and he says yes. So I slave away making gourmet scrambled eggs for him (aka, cracking the egg into a coffee mug, scrambling with a fork, and heating it up in the microwave). Surprise, surprise, once the eggs are ready to eat, Nick doesn’t want them. Fine. The rule we’ve established for both boys is, they need to eat what’s on their plate. If they don’t, that’s fine, they can be “done”, but when they ask for a snack, they have to finish their plate before having anything else. So, as expected, Nick asks for something else a few minutes later, and I tell him he needs to finish his eggs first. To which he replies, “No!” (while giving me the demon look). I remain calm and explain his options again. Followed by more “no”s and demon looks. Eventually, he tries to pull a sneaky one by taking his plate toward the trash. I catch him and put the plate back on the table and tell him he needs to finish the eggs. More pouting and demon looks. I leave the kitchen for a minute, only to return to Nick pushing his plate of eggs into the sink. As I’m reprimanding him and picking eggs out of soapy water to put back on the plate (it’s fucking fine, a little dish soap never hurt anyone), I see he has one piece of egg that he’s slowly pushing into a space he’s discovered under the counter, between the sink and the cabinet. I don’t know why there’s a space there, but I do know that if (more) food gets in there, it’s going to do nothing but add to the likelihood of (more) unwanted bugs and smells in the kitchen. So I lose my shit and yell and threaten and then feel bad and stupid for even engaging in an argument…with my fucking 2-yr-old. I honestly can’t remember how it was resolved. If I had to guess, I’d say I probably left the plate on the table for Nick to finish and at some point my terrible dog got on the table and ate the eggs and I was too tired to make new ones for him to eat so I just gave him whatever snack he wanted in the first place. A+ parenting, ya’ll.
I chalk up some of my emotional outbursts to pregnancy hormones, but other times, I just become a lazy parent. Being consistent can be really difficult, so I shouldn’t be surprised if my kids’ behaviors don’t change when I don’t follow through on consequences. Summertime is also tough because it seems like there is more going on, later in the evening, so schedules get thrown off and then kids get all dysregulated. A perfect example is Nick’s recent nap regression. We had a couple weekends in a row of late nights with friends, plus random viruses going around, plus me going out of town…resulting in Nick refusing to nap for a week straight. Now, Adam gave up naps not long after he turned 3 (this is early for most kids – lucky me), so it’s not like I’ve had afternoons with both boys asleep for awhile. However, Adam has gotten pretty good at “quiet resting”, so I’m able to get some things done or just sit and relax for a bit in the afternoons. With Nick, however, missing a nap means that by 5pm, he loses his shit. The process of trying to get him back on track with napping was so incredibly frustrating. Listening to him yell in his bed for over an hour straight, knowing that he’s exhausted, knowing that if he doesn’t sleep that the rest of the day will be miserable, also knowing that if I wait too long and he falls asleep too late, I risk a successful bedtime…my sanity was like a pot of water slowly boiling over. I had to do a lot of deep breaths and self-talk. Plus, I googled. I tried to limit myself to sites and suggestions that seemed legit. The internet is full of people who think they are experts and before you know it, you’ve read 1 too many comments on “Baby Center” and you’ve been shamed into thinking you’re doing all of the wrong things. We have a book that we’ve used with both boys when establishing sleep schedules early on, so I figured that was a somewhat trustworthy source. What I discovered is that when kids are overtired, their bodies will actively fight sleep. So instead of napping, which seems like the intuitive thing for a tired body to do, kids will fight it and then fatigue early in the evening. The solution: push up bedtime. Somehow, getting more sleep at night is supposed to make kids rested enough to sleep well during the day. It doesn’t make the most sense to my brain, but I’m on board with my kids sleeping all of the time. I don’t know if there’s a time I love my kids more than when they are sleeping. It’s just wonderful. So, after several failed attempts at naps and pushing bedtime earlier…Nick finally seems to be back on track. Which is actually how I’m able to spend an afternoon writing this blog post, instead of deep breathing and stress eating as he screams in his crib.
As I approach the end of this pregnancy, I can’t decide if I want time to speed up or slow down. Part of me sees that side profile in the mirror at the gym and thinks, “2 more months?!? How?!? How much bigger can my stomach get?!” But another part of me, the part that looked through newborn clothes the other day thinks, “I’m not ready to do this again.” Having been pregnant before is such a blessing and a curse when looking ahead to the end result. There is nothing more amazing than giving birth. Hands down, the most wonderful, amazing thing I could ever experience. However, that process involves lots of pain and discomfort and (sometimes literal) shit. So I’m going to try to enjoy the last couple months of this. Even though it feels like this baby girl is trying to screw something into my bladder when she moves. Even though Tums are now a routine part of my meals. Even though my body is expanding and shifting and waddling. Because eventually, I won’t have a legitimate excuse for sausage link boob sweat and weight gain. I will have another little human to defy me and give me demon looks and sneak her eggs into the trash. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.❤