This will be the last time I’m ever pregnant (God-willing). Though in my current state I’m doubting to the depths of my soul that I’ll actually miss it, maybe that’s not completely true. In an effort to “enjoy” this pregnancy (and I use that term very lightly) I’m trying to find a few things to embrace instead of scorn. The truth is I do not like being pregnant. I don’t like barfing or feeling like my body is not my own and I really, really don’t like that the liquor store across the alley hasn’t seen my face in over six months. I know it’s all for the greater good, but man, I am about ready to start pushing. Just say the word. Regardless of how I feel at the present moment, I know when it’s all over, there may, in fact, be a handful of little things I’ll wish I’d appreciated a bit more.
Here are the top nine things I’m trying to savor about pregnant life. Feel free to stop me if I start to sound too perky.
1. Doing a few yoga poses and calling it a workout.
Nausea, fatigue, maintaining a four year old and growing a child have wrought havoc on my fitness routine. I still do yoga, but in my pre-pregnancy life, I’d be drowning in guilt by the lack of physical activity I’ve succumbed to. A little goddess pose here, a downdog there, pigeon, of course because it feels sooo good. After a twenty minute nap, I mean savasana, I pat myself on the back for my awesome “workout.”
2. Not having to say “I don’t feel like having sex tonight.”
Because let’s face it, he already knows it ain’t happening. It seems the bigger I get, the more desperate my husband becomes. Unfortunately his growing infatuation with my pregnant bod coincides with my growing repulsion to anything even remotely sexual. Except in the case of…
3. Pregnant dreams.
That’s right. In my waking hours, sex is repulsive. But once I’m down for the count it’s a different encounter every night. Guest appearances have included Matt Damon, Leonardo Dicaprio and I hate to say it, Justin Bieber. Apparently my slumbering pregnant self is a total cliche (and kind of a cradle-robber).
4. Falling asleep at the drop of a hat.
In real life, I’m an awful sleeper. It takes me forever to get to sleep (unless it’s wine induced, obv) and I wake up every time my daughter makes a noise or the cat walks across my bedroom. But when I’m pregnant, I hit the pillow and I’m done. Snooze-city till morning or till I’m four seconds away from peeing the bed. Typically the latter. I’ve also never been someone who could nap but pregnant? Anytime, anywhere, baby. If there’s so much as twelve seconds of silence, you’re gonna have to wake me. Preferably by rubbing my feet.
5. Not having to change diapers.
Diapers suck and I am not amped to be changing them every seventeen minutes again. It’s totally one of the worst things about having babies. Cloth, disposable, whatever. It’s all a crap-fest. For the next few months, I’ll be enjoying the fact that I’m only wiping two butts (mine and my daughter’s).
6. Two words. Belly. Butter.
Pregnancy is the best excuse to slather yourself with some sort of belly-cream (coconut oil is my jam) no less than eight times a day. It doesn’t matter how much I moisture, pregnant winter=I have scales and bring on the good smelling goop. Yes, I realize, this is hardly something to commemorate.
7. Not holding in my belly.
Typically, I practice holding my belly in (just a tad). Hey, it’s good for ab strength and let’s face it, my pants fit more comfortably. But there is something totally liberating about letting it all hang out. It’s the one time in my life I get to have a the-bigger-the-better mentality and I’m very down with that.
8. Staring at my stomach for hours and telling myself I’m being productive because I was “bonding.”
Some days I’m brimming with creative pregnant juices. Other days, I can barely put two words together and my part-time writing gig is put on the back-burner. It ain’t all bad, though. I’m actually in the middle of the ultimate creative process.
9. Caring excruciatingly little about my appearance because “who gives an eff? I’m pregnant.”
I’m 27 weeks in and I just can’t be bothered to give a fart about the way I look anymore. I’m just too damn tired to care. Some days I manage to wear a bra but it’s not all that often. Yoga pants, a hoodie and a hat pretty much do me proud. At least I look pregnant enough that I can pretend the world is totally embracing my slumpy-dumpy digs. I know I am.