pregnant life update – 33 weeks
In general, my pregnancy posts are complaining rants or general moans, and since they don’t really reflect what’s happening with me, I think I’m ready to say things a little bit differently.
Recently we went to a play, and I was definitely one of the more under-dressed women there. But as I stood at the public bathroom sink washing my hands, I watched all the other women primping and rearranging, and I started to realise how little it mattered that I was only in jeans and a t-shirt.
Even with their shiny outfits and pretty handbags and cute shoes and ‘done’ hair and generously-applied make-up, they just looked like they were making the best of their aging, failing bodies, while I feel like my body is just improving, and is giving me a reason to be proud. This has been the first time in my life that I have been able to look at the women around me and feel equal, or in some cases more than that. Never in my twenties – and certainly not before that, either – did I ever feel that I measured up to other women, but suddenly, in this year, in this pregnancy, I feel that I do.
One the one hand I’m embarrassed at how arrogant this sounds, but on the other hand, I don’t keep a diary and if I want to remember how this felt, I feel like I have to record it somewhere, and I’m making this my somewhere.
Maybe this is just a case of pre-fall pride and I’ll end up suffering crippling post-natal depression when the baby is out, reality hits, and I don’t feel special anymore; but in the meantime, I’m just trying to enjoy what I have – the inevitable feelings that I’ll have of being an inadequate wife and mother can surely wait.
It’s not just an internally-produced thing, the new confidence, so I won’t take full responsibility for the feeling. Other people have been full of compliments about how well I’m carrying, how well I’m looking, how perfectly rounded I am, how well I’m moving … the constant support and encouragement and attention and affection of my consistently wonderful Mr is also a major factor in my current contentment, too. Basically as I get over the continuing comments about how small I look, I’m just taking it all as one big affirmation of how nicely everything is going.
And although those smallness comments are still coming, the fact is that I look like I have a soccer ball discreetly embedded in my body, and even if that’s not immediately obvious to the population in general, I know that it’s there.
In fact, with my increasing size, tasks like waxing my legs and painting my toe-nails are becoming increasingly difficult, as I try to navigate around my belly. I can still manage, though, with sufficient time, care, and sideways bends.
In terms of other symptoms, I’m still getting the occasional attack of heartburn – always self-induced. I’m not entirely sure what I did yesterday to deserve it, but I’m guessing it was the pastry that I had for breakfast. The heartburn is only about twice a week these days; when I manage to totally resist all fluffy breads I go to bed with no discomfort whatsoever. I do still resent the fact that a pastry or piece of bread eaten at 9am will come back to haunt me as late as 11pm, but I guess I just have to accept that reality. Yesterday I also had slightly achy limbs, like the achy knees I sometimes get when I’m really exhausted but can’t sleep. Then again, it had been a very long day and I probably hadn’t been drinking enough throughout the entire four-day weekend, so I wasn’t all that surprised at being uncomfortable.
The baby’s movements are my constant companion, and while I don’t notice the movements disturbing my sleep, sometimes I do get kicks so strong against my ribs that I have to sit up straighter to feel like I’m providing enough room in there … I hope that my limited height and short-waisted figure aren’t going to stunt its growth and curse it to a life of shortness.
Entry filed under: pregnant life.