Finally entering my last month of this journey to being a mommy, and it has been quite a ride. I was looking back on some pictures earlier today from the early days of my pregnancy (and before) and wow, I had really lost a lot of weight beforehand. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but.... beep beep! I had worked really, really, really hard to lose weight for five months before I found out I was pregnant, and had lost about 35 pounds. I didn't realize the difference until now looking back! And as much as I've enjoyed being pregnant (really, I have!) I can not wait to get back to that again. Will and I are going to buy my jogging stroller with yet another gift card (LOVE gift cards!) later this week. A new jogging stroller (with an iPod connection and speakers) and an old pair of jeans hanging up for me to look at everyday are my motivation! That's what I did the first time I really committed myself to losing weight. I hung an old pair of jeans that I really wanted to get back into on the window by my bed, so they were the first thing I saw every morning and the last thing I saw every night. It was a glorious day that I slid those jeans on and they actually fit! And now I'm looking forward to that day again. I've done it once, so I know I can do it again. The weight rule I've heard is "nine months up, nine months down," so I won't be too hard on myself, I know it's yet another journey, but it will definitely be in the forefront of my mind.
My pregnancy has really been a breeze until the past couple of weeks. Most of my friends roll their eyes because I didn't have one day of morning sickness (not even a dry heave), felt relatively spritely, wore a size medium maternity jean, and had yet to develop one stretch mark. (Please hold, while I knock on some wood.) While all these things are still true, I will say that it's not as easy as it used to be now. For starters, I have put on a few more pounds than I really wanted to. Granted, my endocrinologist insists that's from my thyroid issues and quitting smoking, and that all the weight has gone where it's supposed to-- my belly. But still. I dread that damn scale every doctors visit. And with going to see my endocrinologist once a month also, that's just double the times that I have to step on the damn thing. Not my proudest moments. My face is a lot puffier than it used to be, ha ha. Not to mention (sorry, but it's true) my boobs. Good Lord Almighty. They have taken on a life of their own. They are a lifeforce unto themselves. If you see me in person often, then you know I was already "blessed" (yeah right) in this area. Big boobs are a pain in the ass, and if you want a boob job, let me highly discourage you. You can't wear cute clothes, and they are generally just annoying. So to be pregnant and filled with happiness at the greatest gift in which God could ever give me, I do find myself somewhat unhappy about the predicament these other "blessings" have gotten me into. I wear a sports bra everyday (and sleep in one too), and that is how I've avoided these so called stretch marks. However, I needed a new bra because I couldn't wear a sports bra to all my parties! My mom and I hit up A Pea in the Pod in Macy's, and thank God she was with me, because she had to catch me as I became faint at the sight of what size these monstrosities have actually become. An E! A FREAKIN' E!!!!!! As I moaned and cried with disbelief, the lady in the dressing room next to me laughed, and said, "Flaunt it, sister, I'm sixty years old and still a B!" Lady, you don't want my first world problems, okay? I called Will to tell him the news later, that my bra size started with the same letter as "elephant" and he sent me off with a "See you when I get home, Dumbo!" Lucky for him I was in a good mood. It really didn't help when my mom said, "And your milk hasn't even come in yet!" Thanks, Mom. Thanks. That's a forced smile I'm wearing, by the way. Second, my feet are out of control. Out. Of. Control. It BLOWS MY MIND at the proportions to which they can grow in just a matter of hours. If even that. My ankle gets a fat roll, and I'm not even kidding. Not even kidding! This swelling/water retention business is no joke. Will and I went to a wedding last weekend, and I was hard pressed to put on some shoes that weren't flip flops. Even flip flops leave their mark these days. Will is an expert on the Ziploc ice pack. I haven't been able to wear my wedding ring for two months, which makes me sad. I love my wedding ring. And without it on, I can feel people judging me. I want to get a tee shirt that says, "Yes, I'm married. Thank you very much." And before you ask about my blood pressure, I have PHENOMENAL blood pressure. Yesterday it was 113/62. Go figure. Next on my complaint list (hey, it's my blog, I can write about whatever I want) is that I have developed gestational carpel tunnel syndrome. What?! I had never heard of such a thing! I woke up a week ago with my hands clenched into a claw like fashion, and my knuckles (especially my knuckles), wrists, and basically every joint on my body in some pretty intense pain. But the knuckles are the worst. The doctor says that there is a narrow passageway in our wrists that allows for fluid to pass that acts as a lubrication to our joints in our hands; and because of my swelling, this passage way has been all but cut off. My hands and forearms get numb or fall asleep very easily now. And the pain in my fingers is substantial. It's supposed to pass after delivery; and until then, I'm supposed to "rest" my hands. Okay. How do you do that? Don't you know I have nesting and Facebooking to do? These hands know no rest! She wants me in splints, but I'm holding out on that for now. The lower back pain has become second nature. I was already walking like an old lady and basically living on a heating pad, and now my hands betray me too. Thanks a lot, body that worked out 4 times a week for the last few years. All that conditioning, and this is how you repay me? Just wait until after this baby is born. I'm going to have a bone to pick with you. And last (yes, we're nearing the end of my complaining) the peeing. My God, the peeing! Sorry for being so blunt, but there is no easy way to say it. If I'm not on a heating pad, I'm in the bathroom. I know Hayden is head down now, because she had hiccups the other day and it was way low. And her heartbeat is also below my belly button; so she's made the turn (thank goodness.) But her head sits right on top of my bladder, like my bladder is a little pillow to cushion her precious head. And when I gotta go, I gotta GO. Intense pain ensues if I do not relieve myself immediately. And when I do, it's a trickle. Like four drops of pee. All that pain for THAT? You'd think I was harboring Niagra Falls in my bladder, but no. It doesn't even constitute a dripping faucet. And so I'm in and out, in and out, in and out, every five minutes (literally five minutes) all the day and night long. It's misery, I tell you, misery! And highly inconvenient. There is no need for me to go to the bathroom four times in Target while grocery shopping, as it so happened last Friday. I had to abandon my cart and run (okay, lumber) to the bathroom at the front of the store, of course, FOUR TIMES! Ridiculous! I can only imagine what I looked like as I waddled as swiftly as possible without running over any small children. If I had an elephant trunk, I'd be throwing it in the air and braying like I was a one-woman stampede. With these boobs and ankles, I just might be turning into one. Maybe the stork will deliver Hayden to my circus car while "Baby of Mine" croons in the background. Sigh. Okay. I'm done now. If you've held on for this long, I thank you. My ten pound bag of Sonic ice (I'm serious) and my heating pad are calling my name. Until next time....
My pregnancy has really been a breeze until the past couple of weeks. Most of my friends roll their eyes because I didn't have one day of morning sickness (not even a dry heave), felt relatively spritely, wore a size medium maternity jean, and had yet to develop one stretch mark. (Please hold, while I knock on some wood.) While all these things are still true, I will say that it's not as easy as it used to be now. For starters, I have put on a few more pounds than I really wanted to. Granted, my endocrinologist insists that's from my thyroid issues and quitting smoking, and that all the weight has gone where it's supposed to-- my belly. But still. I dread that damn scale every doctors visit. And with going to see my endocrinologist once a month also, that's just double the times that I have to step on the damn thing. Not my proudest moments. My face is a lot puffier than it used to be, ha ha. Not to mention (sorry, but it's true) my boobs. Good Lord Almighty. They have taken on a life of their own. They are a lifeforce unto themselves. If you see me in person often, then you know I was already "blessed" (yeah right) in this area. Big boobs are a pain in the ass, and if you want a boob job, let me highly discourage you. You can't wear cute clothes, and they are generally just annoying. So to be pregnant and filled with happiness at the greatest gift in which God could ever give me, I do find myself somewhat unhappy about the predicament these other "blessings" have gotten me into. I wear a sports bra everyday (and sleep in one too), and that is how I've avoided these so called stretch marks. However, I needed a new bra because I couldn't wear a sports bra to all my parties! My mom and I hit up A Pea in the Pod in Macy's, and thank God she was with me, because she had to catch me as I became faint at the sight of what size these monstrosities have actually become. An E! A FREAKIN' E!!!!!! As I moaned and cried with disbelief, the lady in the dressing room next to me laughed, and said, "Flaunt it, sister, I'm sixty years old and still a B!" Lady, you don't want my first world problems, okay? I called Will to tell him the news later, that my bra size started with the same letter as "elephant" and he sent me off with a "See you when I get home, Dumbo!" Lucky for him I was in a good mood. It really didn't help when my mom said, "And your milk hasn't even come in yet!" Thanks, Mom. Thanks. That's a forced smile I'm wearing, by the way. Second, my feet are out of control. Out. Of. Control. It BLOWS MY MIND at the proportions to which they can grow in just a matter of hours. If even that. My ankle gets a fat roll, and I'm not even kidding. Not even kidding! This swelling/water retention business is no joke. Will and I went to a wedding last weekend, and I was hard pressed to put on some shoes that weren't flip flops. Even flip flops leave their mark these days. Will is an expert on the Ziploc ice pack. I haven't been able to wear my wedding ring for two months, which makes me sad. I love my wedding ring. And without it on, I can feel people judging me. I want to get a tee shirt that says, "Yes, I'm married. Thank you very much." And before you ask about my blood pressure, I have PHENOMENAL blood pressure. Yesterday it was 113/62. Go figure. Next on my complaint list (hey, it's my blog, I can write about whatever I want) is that I have developed gestational carpel tunnel syndrome. What?! I had never heard of such a thing! I woke up a week ago with my hands clenched into a claw like fashion, and my knuckles (especially my knuckles), wrists, and basically every joint on my body in some pretty intense pain. But the knuckles are the worst. The doctor says that there is a narrow passageway in our wrists that allows for fluid to pass that acts as a lubrication to our joints in our hands; and because of my swelling, this passage way has been all but cut off. My hands and forearms get numb or fall asleep very easily now. And the pain in my fingers is substantial. It's supposed to pass after delivery; and until then, I'm supposed to "rest" my hands. Okay. How do you do that? Don't you know I have nesting and Facebooking to do? These hands know no rest! She wants me in splints, but I'm holding out on that for now. The lower back pain has become second nature. I was already walking like an old lady and basically living on a heating pad, and now my hands betray me too. Thanks a lot, body that worked out 4 times a week for the last few years. All that conditioning, and this is how you repay me? Just wait until after this baby is born. I'm going to have a bone to pick with you. And last (yes, we're nearing the end of my complaining) the peeing. My God, the peeing! Sorry for being so blunt, but there is no easy way to say it. If I'm not on a heating pad, I'm in the bathroom. I know Hayden is head down now, because she had hiccups the other day and it was way low. And her heartbeat is also below my belly button; so she's made the turn (thank goodness.) But her head sits right on top of my bladder, like my bladder is a little pillow to cushion her precious head. And when I gotta go, I gotta GO. Intense pain ensues if I do not relieve myself immediately. And when I do, it's a trickle. Like four drops of pee. All that pain for THAT? You'd think I was harboring Niagra Falls in my bladder, but no. It doesn't even constitute a dripping faucet. And so I'm in and out, in and out, in and out, every five minutes (literally five minutes) all the day and night long. It's misery, I tell you, misery! And highly inconvenient. There is no need for me to go to the bathroom four times in Target while grocery shopping, as it so happened last Friday. I had to abandon my cart and run (okay, lumber) to the bathroom at the front of the store, of course, FOUR TIMES! Ridiculous! I can only imagine what I looked like as I waddled as swiftly as possible without running over any small children. If I had an elephant trunk, I'd be throwing it in the air and braying like I was a one-woman stampede. With these boobs and ankles, I just might be turning into one. Maybe the stork will deliver Hayden to my circus car while "Baby of Mine" croons in the background. Sigh. Okay. I'm done now. If you've held on for this long, I thank you. My ten pound bag of Sonic ice (I'm serious) and my heating pad are calling my name. Until next time....
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