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Archive for the ‘body image’ Category

me 4 weeks agoThis is 4 weeks ago

This is last week.

I don’t think I’ve gotten any bigger, but will take another picture tomorrow before my appointment.  Next post will address one of the things that cheered me up, but didn’t want to inundate with photos.  Oh, and I made a labor mix that is gawth and cheesy and my husband will mostly hate it.  I’ll post it tomorrow, probably.  Still no sign of Francis feeling the need to grace us with his presence.  It’s like waiting to be killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts.

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My skin is stretched to its limit, bulging and purple and striated.  It doesn’t look like the magazines.  It isn’t glowing or satiny-smooth, and my belly button certainly doesn’t poke out, jaunty, of the center of my watermelon tummy.  I have warty-looking bumps–‘barnacles’ my mom calls them, benign growths the dermatologist–that grow with pregnancy and make my stomach look even more marred than with just the stretch marks.  No, I do not like my skin much today.

I try to remember the last time I felt pretty in this pregnancy and it must have been back in July.  I am wearing the pants I loved that month in hopes they will remind me that it is still my body.  I have showered, made a half-hearted attempt to shave my legs because it somehow seems important today even though my normal shaving routine is less than routine.  I contort myself, trying to slough off the dried dead crap from the bottoms of my feet, and remember that I need to figure out how to cut my toenails.  I can’t bring myself to ask C for help because, hell, I’m barely holding on to my body image at this point.

And the worst part?  I don’t want to care about this.  I don’t want to care about half of the crap I’ve been caring about lately–if my stove is clean enough, how to best organize my closet, if the worms will move over to one side of the bin before the baby comes so I can harvest the worm poop, whether I should make a big meat run to the farmer’s market next week or just wait until after the baby comes.

It’s not constant, of course.  It’s not as unrelenting as it seems sometimes, and there are still shots of pure joy; when Lucy gives me an extra kiss for the baby, or when C rolls over in the morning and rubs my stomach, or when I curl up with Bean to give him pets and baby talk and the baby starts to roll around in response.  But these days when I really don’t want to care about stupid things like how my hair looks or how disgusting my abdomen will still be after I have the baby…they really suck and I resent the hell out of them.

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Gigantic

This is what 32 weeks looks like.  Can you imagine that I’m going to get bigger?  Me freaking either.

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Or, how I learned I can no longer run about the city willy-nilly and promptly retired to the safety of my own head…

We took Lucy to the Met yesterday and after 4 hours of being on my feet, I was damn near reduced to tears every step I took on the walk back to the subway.  My hips ached, the baby was perched atop my bladder the entire time, and I was generally miserable to be and be around.  To be honest, I couldn’t even really enjoy being at the museum for having to pee every five minutes and having to walk behind C and Lucy because I’m so goddamn slow.  It sucks, and I’m feeling more than a little bit sorry for myself that I have to miss out on all the fun.

The truth is, I’m doing a lot of feeling sorry for myself lately.  I have a million complaints which seem to catapult out of my mouth and fingers despite having an equal number of things I’m excited and happy about.  I’m tired of being cranky and negative and tired and sweaty and achy and heartburny.  I don’t remember being such an insufferable person when I was pregnant last time, and I don’t want to be an insufferable person now.

And so, in no particular order, here is my lemons out of lemonade plan for the next 8 weeks:

  • The dressers and kitchen cart get here on Thursday, the computer armoire on Friday.  These deliveries coincide with Lucy’s first and second days of school, so I am well excited that I can keep myself nice and busy reorganizing and folding and nonesuch.  AND my worst fears that nothing will be ready for the baby will *not* be realized.
  • I have ordered a beginner’s canning kit from Lehman’s and have rather grandiose plans to attempt to take up canning this fall.  Don’t worry, in a past life I was taught how to make pickles so I’m not totally at sea on this one, but I am going to have to do some serious clearing out of space to make room for whatever it is I end up canning.  Nothing like planning, eh?  I figure I’ll start out with applesauce and maybe do some tomatoes.  We’ll see what we end up with from the farm share.
  • Next week will be the big Greenmarket meat stock up for the freezer trip which should at least get us through the beginning of new-baby-too-busy stuff and hopefully even longer but I’ll have to see how hip my husband is to buying huge quantities of meat
  • Tomorrow is getting another set of cannisters to stock up on rice and beans and the like (plus a drying rack that won’t fall apart the day I bring it home.)  And potting soil so that I can plant my wheatgrass and lettuce.
  • We are finally through the suckage of August and I will be getting my 90% numbers figured out today or tomorrow.  This should be the crappiest results month of the year and I’ll be happy to be done with it.  On the upside, our electricity only went up to 466 kwh, which is well below last year’s 900 so it could be worse.  Nah, I’m really disappointed about that because we were gone and had power strips turned off for about 10 days and it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.
  • By this time next week, my to-do list should be drastically different!

I’m going to try and do a 32 week photo today but I make no guarantees.  I’m torn between wanting to continue to commemorate and realizing that I’m just freaking huge.  I’m not used to being so….doughy and it didn’t really bother me until yesterday when it hit me that I’ve passed cute-roly and headed straight to very, very pregnant with legs that look like raw dough.

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25 weeks

I can’t believe I’m posting a photograph of myself in a bathing suit on the internet.

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And hot.  We finally turned on the a/c for a bit today to clear out the oppressive hot of the weekend.  It’s off again now that night has fallen, but man did it ever feel good to cool off a bit.

Had a prenatal visit today that confirmed what I have been suspecting–my weight gain did in fact jump last month.  And so no more devil’s food crumb cake donuts, Milano cookies, ice cream, bacon cheeseburgers.  I’ve spent most of my life worrying about my weight even though I was underweight and so to actually *need* to watch it a bit is a lot on the weird side.  And, to be completely honest, I’ve had enough unhealthy eating/starving habits to last a lifetime so I’m a little worried about going overboard.  And, yes, I have spent most of the past 7 hours thinking about my weight which is never a particularly good thing.  And on top of that, the more I know I shouldn’t be eating crap, the more I’m craving a pile of chocolate-covered lard instead of these perfectly delicious cucumber slices.  Ah well.

Meanwhile, the Riot for Austerity took a total nosedive last week.  And I do mean total.  New clothes for Lucy and me, rec center membership, a long weekend at the beach with groceries for 7 (almost all of which were totally non-local) plus the trash created by 4 adults and 3 kids.  Beer bottles, plastic bags, air conditioning, pool heaters and light switches that turn on 4 lights at a time and nobody remembers to turn off.  It was so easy to get lazy.  It was so easy to lose track.  Frankly, it was so easy to say ‘fuckit’ and drop a load on new sandals and maternity pants and let Lucy pick herself out some outfits.  I’m trying to maintain a forest/trees balance of sight but I get really upset when I trip up (or bellyflop.)  It was really a fun weekend when I wasn’t feeling like the only person who cares about the environment, which is a good thing seeing as I was surrounded by people who actually really do care.  I have to keep reminding myself that I can only do what I can do.  And the shopping stuff?  Seeing as how we’re pretty well done with bearing children after this one, all will be donated and my conscience wiped (sort of) clean.  Or, conversely, if it makes me feel like a little less of a lardass to get some pants that make me feel better about my thunderthighs, maybe self-flagellation isn’t so much in order.

I think that as much as I want to avoid making deprivation a part of the Riot, I am falling into the trap of feeling as though I’m doing something wrong when I make a choice that avoids deprivation.  Please don’t let me make myself a martyr over a pair of sweatpants and some Chips Ahoy.  It’s a far better thing to achieve a 50% reduction than to not reduce at all.

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Bump

Man, it’s tough taking side view pictures of oneself.

The Bump (and my horrible posture) at 13 weeks:

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