Ok… I’m officially not one of those women who enjoy being pregnant.
You know the ones….all gorgeous hair and radiating skin, the ones who are so full of energy and are so pleased because all their flowing pre-pregnancy maxi dresses still fit in month 5…
Erm…. was I not in the queue that day when they were dishing out the clear skin and nice hair pregnancy add-ons? I also apparently missed the ‘how to have loads of energy’ seminar and trust me…NONE of my pre-pregger clothing fits….so it turns out the clothing elves are on strike.
And I cannot express to you how much I miss Pate & Gin.
4 months in and I feel I finally look pregnant…..rather than I’ve just eaten an entire Warburton’s lorry load of white bread and bloated to enormous Verruca Salt like proportions.
I have however had a few tough months adjusting. I think I thought it would be easy….get pregnant, have a baby, grow our family….and whilst Mother Dear has prepared me for the practical ‘have a baby and grow our family’ section of the plan by the full immersion of two extra siblings when I hit my teenage years, wherein I was used as a much needed pair of extra hands and free childcare…. I hadn’t been prepared for the ‘oh-god-I-don’t-feel-or-look-like-me’ experience of pregnancy.
I’d always had a very strong sense of self…. when a boyfriend and I once broke up as ‘he needed to go find himself’, I shook my head and couldn’t quite understand how he had gotten to 20 and still had no clue who he was or how he didn’t yet have his own sense of style.
On the whole…I liked myself…I liked my body, I liked how it looked in the clothes I chose and I liked the image of carefree rock goddess that I put out in the world.
Until 16 weeks ago.
Sometimes it can be the little things that set you on edge…. the fact that when I sit in front of our mirrored wardrobe, I can no longer see my hip tattoo as it is hidden by rolls of ‘fat and baby’….and how my life uniform of skinny jeans were no longer an option from week 8 as I couldn’t get them done up without a DIY hair bobble attachment.
MY DISCO PANTS AND LEATHER LEGGINGS NO LONGER FIT…AND ALL MY DRESSES NOW OFFICIALLY SHOW LADY PARTS DUE TO MY BUMP.
I currently feel like I’m dressed like Amy from The Big Bang Theory…all frumpy and weird…and not in a good way. I don’t feel like I can pull any of my beloved ’80’s rock glamour puss’ vibe from anything in my wardrobe…. and yes…that’s totally how I see my style of dressing….
And yes…I hear you…go buy maternity wear….
Do you know how horrific it is for me to shop for bottoms normally?! I’m a tall girl with curves and calves…and surprisingly, shops don’t make for those.
Even trying to build up the courage to go maternity shopping, which would include traipsing and lots of trying on, is thwarted by everything being so damn tiring… even thinking about going shopping makes me need to nap.
And if one more person tells me ‘the tiredness normally goes after the first 3 months’ I’m going to sit on them…
I was used to cramming a million and one things into my day, doing them all, shaking my hair like in a shampoo advert and winking because I-was-awesome-at-getting-s*@t-done… now climbing the stairs to go to the toilet for the fourth time in the hour leaves me totally out of breath…. it sucks.
And yes….I’m aware this is totally first world problem crazy pregnant lady ranting and I’m not doubting I will love this tiny terrorist when it emerges….but until then…can we quit pretending like pregnancy is the most glorious thing on earth and recognise it for what it is….. the end of your life as you know it.