So being pregnant sucks. Lots of women love it; they feel beautiful. I feel all the feels: fat, sweaty, sick, emotional, etc. I won’t bore you with the complete list, but you get the idea. I’m now on my fourth pregnancy, and I can honestly say that it’s just as rough as the first. There are, however, some undeniable perks.
The boobs are fantastic. Seriously. I’m usually a low B cup, so when I’m busting out of my C cup, it’s a pretty exciting moment for me. My boobs start getting bigger in preparation for feeding baby as early as three months in, so I’m feeling pretty fancy right now. I also get the benefit of having those bad boys shrink once the pregnancy is over, which means I won’t suffer the long-term effects of a large chest like so many women do. Pregnancy boobs are a major score.
Speaking of boobs, I’ve bought probably ten nursing bras from one pregnancy to the next, and they simply don’t cut it. You can put all the stretchy fabric in the world into one of those things, but a bra is still a bra, and they can be restricting. Right around month six of pregnancy, I’ve effectively had it with trying to squeeze into one of those things. I always wear a cami with a built-in bra under my other shirts, so there’s still a modicum of support, but it feels so much freer, and freedom feels oh so good.
It’s easier not to participate in things, because pregnancy is the best excuse ever. Large get together with a group you aren’t entirely comfortable with? Simply too tired to go out. Hubby needs help putting up the kids’ new swing set? Nope, that’s against the rules. It’s time to mow the lawn again? Sorry, so tired. Must nap. I can’t get away with this type of shit on a regular basis, so for nine months you bet your ass I’m going to relish it.
Speaking of relish, I eat what I want. To be honest, I usually eat what I want, but now I have no shame. I do know that I technically only need an extra 300 calories a day when I’m pregnant, which is essentially two decent sized pieces of cheese. It’s not much. I, however, am craving french fries and cookie dough like it’s my job, and the cravings are in control. I know I’m likely to gain 50 pounds instead of the 25 that is considered healthy weight gain for someone of my size. I also know that it’s going to be a bitch to get this weight off after little Squish is born. I just don’t care because all the salt and MSG makes my heart happy — in a poetic sense only, obviously.
My husband thinks I’m gorgeous when I’m pregnant, which sounds like a complete lie, but it’s true. He says there’s something sexy about my body while I carry his child. It’s probably just the boobs. Either way, pregnancy is not a time when I feel beautiful. For many women, it is, but for me, I have a hard time getting past the feeling of being so out of sync with my own body. Having someone not just love me because we’re partners, but appreciate the physical changes I’m going through as well is huge. Someone should think I’m attractive, even if it isn’t me.
At the end of the day, being pregnant is hard. In a general sense, I’m not a big fan. It can be difficult to find reasons to love it, but I can assure you that not long after Squish is out, I’ll be missing those moments I could feel her moving inside me. I’ll miss those times I caught myself in the mirror before hopping in the shower, those times I thought, “Wow. Look at what I can do.” I’ll miss that connection that only a mother can have to a baby growing inside her. I’ll miss feeling like a complete badass because pregnancy is a bitch, but I know I can rock it.