Weight gain and a pity party

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I realized I hadn’t updated the standard numbers in a long time.

Here goes:
Today I am exactly 31 weeks. That means I am officially in the single digits of remaining weeks. Say whaaa?!

It means that the little guy is approximately 19 inches long and weighs about 4 pounds.

I have NOT weighed myself in a week or so, but recently, I’ve been staying about the same. I look nearly the same now as I did, sheesh, 3-4 weeks ago? I’m not sure, but it seems that way. Last time I went to the doctor, she said I was gaining about a pound a week. Because I think it’s important for my future self that I mention this, the last I checked, I was 159 pounds. I started at 127 pounds. Let me be clear about one thing: I DO lift weights 3 times a week via Crossfit, so I guarantee that some of that gain is muscle. Additionally, I have mostly gained in the belly, so either this kid is humongous or I just have lots of muscles building up that I can’t see. Ain’t no way I’ve gained a lot of weight all over. I look mostly the same except for the stomach (and hips and boobs, naturally).

This morning I had a pity party for myself:
I get emotional sometimes (go figure). I started to think about how I used to work out, in college and before I got pregnant. My motivation? To look hot. To look good so people would say, “Wow she has a nice body.” That was my motivation. I could care less if I was healthy. Then I got pregnant, and that all changed. Now my motivation is to stay in shape so that I have a quick recovery and can lose the “baby weight” faster. The problem with that is this: I have been working out, hard, 3 times a week for 4 months. And instead of getting hot, I’ve gained weight. My legs are bigger. My belly is bigger. My butt’s bigger. It’s gross. And it’s incredibly frustrating. Why keep it up?

Then, I got upset with the baby. I wanted him to just get out of me so I could be my old self again. It’s not that I don’t want him because I do. I’m excited to meet the little guy. But I’m sick of having him inside of me. So I looked down at myself with disgust and irritation.

Then I felt guilty. I felt guilty for getting upset with him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I was being a bad mom for thinking bad thoughts.

I was emotional, to say the least. My darling Cameron was at work, but he sent me a few very sweet text messages that cheered me up.

Later in the day, I went into the gym, after some convincing from my trainer Chris. We talked about the frustration I was having, and he said the same thing I keep hearing: it will pay off. Other women who are NOT active have a tough and lengthy recovery. He told me how strong I was, even though you can’t really see all of it in the same way. He said that during pregnancy, my goal shouldn’t be to get stronger, per se. I should be trying to maintain an active lifestyle, stay healthy, and prepare myself, physically, for the challenge of labor. So that’s where my motivation should be.

It was just a rough morning.

I had lunch with my good friend and college roommate Mary. She is also pregnant, about 1 month behind me. It was fun to talk pregnancy stuff with someone going through it. Normally, I talk pregnancy stuff with people who are either (a) not pregnant and never will be (a.k.a. dudes) or (b) parents who want nothing more than to give me lots of advice. Mary was a change of pace. Mary was a nice detour from my normal routine.

A couple more notes that I’ll throw in:
1. I got tested, and I do NOT have gestational diabetes.
2. I am not anemic.
3. I had to switch OB doctors because mine is likely moving to Maryland full time, and I don’t feel like commuting. I’ll meet the new lady on Monday afternoon.

Sorry for the randomness! I was a bit scattered, but I had a lot to say. 🙂 I know you’ll forgive me, all 3 of you.

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