I don’t think I ever told my readers over here what’s been going on, but here’s the big news: I’m pregnant! 119 days in, 147 days to go. In other words, about 19 weeks. Yes, this was (semi) planned. Yes, I have a gender preference. Yes, I’m going to find out the sex (tomorrow!) Yes, I’m excited to be a mom three times over.
But no, I don’t feel good. I could go into a lot of stuff, but really, what’s going on right now is that I feel like a humongous cow. A beached whale. An elephant on steroids. I’ve already gained 21.5 pounds. At this point in pregnancy, I should have gained only about 12 pounds. If I gain a pound a week, as I should, from this point on, I’m going to go over the 40 pound mark. With the other two I gained 25 and 30. Jesus, take the wheel.
Today, I went into Macy’s thinking I was going to buy some more maternity clothes because all my pants – which are already maternity – are too tight. Big mistake. As soon as I started to undress in the fitting room, under those horrendous florescent lights, I regretted taking my clothes off. The cellulite on the backs of my thighs and the bottom of my ass hanging out of what are already granny panties made me want to cry. And when I put my clothes back on, and looked at my butt again, what I saw made me cringe.
I know I’m pregnant. I know that I’m not going to be the cutest chick on the block. I know I’m not going to look like Heidi-effing-Klum when she was pregnant.
Or Beyoncè. (I mean, really?)
But I didn’t expect to loathe my body this much. I don’t need to look great naked – my husband likes me just fine. But with clothes on, I at least want to look decent. Presentable. Like the young, hip mom I am. I have two other kids to run after, so I’m not going to be wearing mini-skirts and heels. But yoga pants making my legs look like poorly stuffed sausages? C’mon son. It’s just not right.
I thought I looked pretty good the last two times around. But like they say, every pregnancy is different. Whoever they are, they ain’t neva lied.