I have no idea what it's like to be completely selfless. Like most people, I was born a selfish, self-absorbed person. But I think I'm getting a glimpse of the other way.
My child is not born yet. While they are a little person, the only care I give them right now is the care I give myself. I don't know what it's like to wake at 2 am to clean up puke or change someone's sheets. I don't know what it's like to give up my nice stuff just for someone else to wreck it. I don't know what it's like to have someone else invade every part of my life and not only demand that I cater to their every whim, that their very life depends on it.
But I think I'm getting a glimpse.
I'm 30 weeks this week. I thought (foolishly, of course), that I'd be able to get through the pregnancy without my body being too dramatically changed. I thought, oh, I'm a good weight, I've been moderately active and I eat very well, I should be fine.
Then the first stretch mark showed up. I jokingly called it 'my squishy' (like Dory does in Finding Nemo) because while it was cute (according to Dave) it hurt me. Not physically. It hurt my pride.
It looked like a big scratch close to my belly button. Then another, smaller one appeared next to it. I was still okay.
And then, in about two weeks' time the bottom of my tummy was covered in these awful little marks. I can't remember if I actually cried or not, but I was dying on the inside when I realized they weren't going away. And that they were just getting bigger and more prominent.
It was as if at that moment I realized my body no longer belonged to me anymore. That my body had a greater purpose than supporting itself- and I was no longer the star of the show.
I've always been on the average size- bigger breasts and hips, but a tiny little waist. Compared to my tummy, I still have a tiny waist. And my hips are still large and my breasts are, well, larger. And my tummy sticks out. Way out. (I'm carrying this baby low and to the front. And before you say that means it's a boy or a girl, I don't know. And I don't really want to know until he or she enters the world and breathes their first real breath.) My husband has been amazing and treats me like he's never found me more attractive. I love being pregnant. I love that I'm creating life and that in only a few months we'll have the baby we've been praying for for years. I love that I don't have to suck in my gut for pictures and that, for the most part, I haven't felt 'fat' since I started telling people I was pregnant. Even those horrible, tactless comments about whether or not I'm carrying twins or why I'm so big when I still have a few months to go haven't affected me as much this week as they normally would/ should have. I think I'm just finally letting go.
I am less worried about labour than I am about healing and recovering after. I dread getting my period back. I hate the thought that Depends may be my newest best friend. I hate that while, yes, I do still have a reason for my body doing strange, unpredictable things, the world is less accepting of it after the baby is born than while it's on the inside. I love feeling this baby kicking and rolling and just being alive. I'm afraid to give birth and with it give all the attention to my new little one. Selfishly, I feel like I've waited so long to be the center of attention, and I've been soaking it up. (Whether this is a true or imagined thing, I'm really not sure!)
I absolutely cannot wait to meet this baby. But I'm still afraid of what my body will be like after he or she comes. I love when people (or just the internet) tell me it's okay- it took ten months to put on the baby weight and for my body to change and stretch and grow to the way it looks (or will look), and it's okay to take just as long to get it back. But I don't know if I want it back. I mean, I'm not going to complain if breastfeeding takes some of my breasts with it. I won't be upset if when baby and I go for walks I lose some of my hips and/or tummy. But I look around and see women, young women, who have never had children whose bodies are bigger than mine pre-pregnancy, and I see new moms with extra skin or fat in their tummies still who still put on the dress that maybe shows it better than hides it, and I want to be okay with my body. I know I'm going to have days where I feel fat and frumpy and just plain gross. I'll want a dramatic change and maybe not be willing to work for it. I'll wish away my thighs and hips and look up easy exercises to get rid of them. I'll look at pictures of me from before I was pregnant and wish my tummy could be that small again. (I've never thought my tummy was small. This is a new thing since I got pregnant and things got obvious.)
But I'm really, truly hoping that I can look at my baby boy or baby girl and not care. That knowing what my body went through to bring them into the world was 100% worth it. That they were the cause of my pain and stretching and the fact that I'll probably never wear a bikini again (not that I really wore them before, it's just nice to have the option...). But that they brought me so much love and so much joy some days I didn't know what to do or how to deal with it all.
Week four.
Week 30.
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