Not all pregnancies are like Beyonce’s
I often hear about how pregnancy is “beautiful” and “magical.” Ummm… when? I am not getting those vibes. Not yet, anyway. At 13 weeks and change I’m feeling… fat. And ugly. I’m definitely not feeling like a perfectly primped Hollywood starlet. I feel absolutely disgusting, which in turn makes me feel guilty.
My skin has broken out as if I’m once again 13 years old. I have patches of dry skin and I feel as if the rest is just dripping oil. My hair is totally jacked up — frizzy, greasy… I’m bloated. Not like “awww, I need chocolate” bloated, but like “I feel like an inflatable bouncy castle” bloated. Nothing fits right at the moment and I just feel so monumentally unattractive it’s ridiculous. Where’s this fucking glow I hear about? When does the damn glow kick in? Anyone? Because I’m not glowing, I’m just shiny from the greasy, oily skin covering my once pretty face.
I see these ads on Facebook for these long, flowy, gorgeous maternity gowns for photo shoots. They’re so beautiful, I love the idea. Then I sneeze myself back into reality and think that my five-foot chubby pregnant frame could never pull that off. (The sneezing has been going on for three months now — it’s an astronomical pain in my ass.) Why is it that all the pregnant women I see in photos have long, tanned supermodel legs? Where are all my pregnant ladies rockin their cellulite and swollen boobs? That’s more my crowd these days. I feel far from a supermodel.
Fatigue is a normal side effect of pregnancy. “You may have less energy, and feel exhausted after doing minimal tasks.” YA THINK?! I’ve been staring at the same pile of clean laundry needing to be folded for months. MONTHS! I’m at the level of lazy that instead of just folding them and putting them where they belong, I just throw them back in the washer so I don’t have to look at them. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned the shower or swept the floors. I can’t remember the last time I organized a shelf or dusted. I want it all to be done, but I just have zero will to do it.
While I’m at work in a prominent, wealthy Connecticut town, I see all these pregnant women with their yoga pants and highlights talking about kale and Nantucket, and I think to myself “I hate you all.” They seem to have perfect lives, perfect outfits and all the time in the world to flaunt their perfect bellies. They stay perfect and all their housework and errands are all taken care of, for an average price if $4,000 a month. It’s like there’s something in the water that prevents them from gaining any substantial weight at any given time. So indeed, they look fantastic. BITCHES!
These hormones are literally gonna put me in the grave. Everything gives me all the feels, I find myself tearing up several times throughout each day. It’s very out of character for me to be so goddamn emotional, and my friends as well as fiancé and family have certainly picked up on it. I often just feel like a wuss, to be perfectly honest. I can’t watch anything on TV, read articles about anything or see photos because I get those misty eyes. Let alone the tears I cry for the stuff I want to eat and can’t.
Coffee and alcohol.
Alcohol I obviously have to keep away from, but coffee is okay in moderation. I can’t even fathom the thought of coffee anymore. That probably plays a huge role in my being so fucking tired all the time, combined with my 60-hour work weeks. I also cannot stomach avocado. Just thinking about it makes my mouth fill with saliva and my stomach turn. I love it, I just can’t even touch one.
Everything changed. My sense of smell, my body, my tastebuds, my looks, my self-esteem, among many other quirks. I find myself worrying and contemplating and planning the minutia of childbearing, and it’s fucking exhausting. Pregnancy is not always stupid glitter and dumb rainbows. It’s hormones and pimples and bloating. It’s anxiety. I can’t even fathom how much more lethargic I’ll be when I’m not actually sleeping.