Today became the day when I can no longer bend forward comfortably to put on socks. I’m at the pregnancy point when I must fold one leg over the other knee to get dressed. And I know from previous experience this is just the beginning.
Adjusting to the aesthetic changes to my body is one of the hardest parts of pregnancy. I actually think the belly bump is cute and I love doing the Aladdin Genie in the Lamp move where I say to Greg in a Robin Williams voice, “Look at me from the side. Do I look different to you?” But beyond the belly bump, it is difficult not to look at yourself in the mirror and wonder what the heck is happening, and worse, can it ever be undone? And this concern and fear hasn’t changed from pregnancy 1 to pregnancy 2 to pregnancy 3.
I’ve always struggled with cellulite. I’m genetically prone to it and, um, I like to eat Swedish Fish and Sour Patch Kids sometimes. And if they’re not the cause, maybe it’s steak or french fries. Whatever. But when pregnant, it is pretty disconcerting to look at your naked body head-on in a mirror and see cellulite down the FRONTS of your thighs. And though I’m lucky enough not to be prone to getting stretch marks on my belly, I do get them on my lower butt and upper thighs in pregnancy. Nice, big purplish-pink ones. If I had the choice, I think I would rather get them on my belly, because those can at least be covered up by a one-piece bathing suit. As can the weird hairs you start growing in never-before-seen places. Ugh.
It’s weird the first time you cough, laugh, sneeze or jump and a little pee comes out. Thankfully, other women who have been there assure you it is normal. But just because it’s normal doesn’t mean you ever adjust to it. It’s hard to sleep, not just because of your growing belly and changing anatomy, but because your bladder becomes increasingly smaller. Only with Eliza did I really get the second trimester break from multiple middle-of-the-night bathroom trips.
I haven’t even gotten to the point in pregnancy when my ankles swell and I get Fred Flinstone feet. I haven’t gotten to the point yet when I can’t see my toes when I look down. Sure, I have some lower back pain here and there, but nothing like I know what’s to come. And I know what’s also coming before this baby comes out is warmer weather, when I won’t need to put on socks anymore, thankfully. But then I’ll have to shave, which will become a potentially dangerous endeavor.
I can't even pee in peace 