My husband’s flannel shirts. Oversized sweaters. Stretch pants. Tall, flat boots.
This was my pregnancy uniform.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I didn’t want anyone to know. Not because of work, although I didn’t want them to know right away either, but because of my own awkwardness. I feared people asking me questions. I was petrified of the cashier at the grocery store, the lady at the mall, the grandmother I passed on my daily walks. I also didn’t want anyone to touch my belly.
One day we were at a restaurant waiting to have brunch. Like a normal pregnant lady, I was starving. Pancakes, omelets, and fruit platters danced through my mind like sugarplum fairies. We had waited 45 minutes for a table and we were finally seated. We ordered. Waiters whizzed by. Busboys cleaned up tables. People who came in after us were almost done with their meals. And our food still hadn’t arrived.
“Who keeps a pregnant lady waiting?” I conspiratorially asked my husband.
“You don’t look pregnant; your clothes are three sizes too big,” my husband casually responded.
“Well, humph.”
We finally got our food, they apologized, threw in a fruit platter for free, but the damage was done. My husband had made me think. I began to wonder why I was so embarrassed to put my belly out there for the world to see.
Then it dawned on me. My real fear in pregnancy was being perceived as “big.” I, the girl who always spoke her mind and stood up for what she believed, had suddenly become irrefutably shallow.
I was shocked by this realization that society had gotten to me, too.
My whole life, I have been pretty… wait, what word can I use here and not be judged?
Thin? Slender? Skinny? The connotations of these words are crazy. “Oh, you’re one of the lucky ones? Born into a good metabolism? You don’t eat anything but salad, right? You must work out all the time!”
Ok, yes, I’ve been mostly skinny, except for a few months when I studied abroad in Italy and survived on secret bakeries, cheese, and cheap, delicious wine. And pregnancy was the first time where I wasn’t skinny. And it was scary to me. I felt embarrassed. Awkward. Apologetic to society. And it was wrong, wrong, wrong.
I never really thought I had body issues. Yes, “friends” had pointed out my “shortcomings”, but nothing really ever bothered me that much. Being pregnant made me realize how deeply seeded our body issues can be. We read all of the articles that tell us we should be proud of our stretch marks, our scars, our baby weight. But it seems like it’s always a topic of conversation among mothers for all the wrong reasons. After the baby, I felt like I had to go all Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto in “Dallas Buyers Club.” Instead of focusing on being healthy, I had an unhealthy obsession with watching the scale increase and then begging the scale to decrease. And I was so frustrated when, no matter how much I ran, nursed, and chased my child, the baby weight wouldn’t come off.
I compared myself to others. And it was the pits.
It was also an eye-opening experience. I have learned a lot about myself in the past two years. Furthermore, I have also learned a lot about society.
- Ohh, Kim Kardashian is soooooo big; it’s disgusting, at least you don’t look like her.
- Ohh, that Costa Rican ab model is amazing; she just gave birth and doesn’t even look like she was ever pregnant! Can you imagine?
- Ohh, don’t gain more than 35 pounds; really, you should keep it to 25.
- Ohh, don’t worry, you were thin before, so you’ll lose the weight right away!
- Ohh, I’ve never seen you this big!
- Ohh, should you be grocery shopping; you look like you’re going to have the baby any second!
- Ohh, you’re pregnant; I thought you were just gaining weight.
- Ohh you look great–you’re all belly!
- Ohh, it’s harder to lose weight after pregnancy when you’re older, so be careful!
These are all things I have actually been told. Always beginning with the “Ohh,” as if that makes what comes next sound less harsh. The amount of pressure we put on ourselves is astronomical. And it’s constantly, subliminally (and not-so-subliminally) broadcast to us via our family, friends, TV, magazines, movies, etc. etc. etc.
Being pregnant is a miracle. It truly is. What the female body is capable of absolutely astounds me. Growing and nurturing a tiny human is THE GREATEST gift in the world. After my baby was born, I would constantly look at her and ask my husband, science aside, “Where did she come from?!?!” I don’t want to take anything away from the beauty and joy of creating life. My purpose here is to question why so many of us are under the assumption that there’s always a better version of ourselves somewhere in the future.
Truth be told, it’s not just weight gain. It was what the weight gain represented to me. During my pregnancy, I focused on weight because it was something I felt I should be able to control in a world where I felt like I was losing control. And yet, I couldn’t seem to control my weight, either. I felt like I was spiraling farther and farther away from who I was toward some unknown and scary new version of me. Because once you’re pregnant, you are now two humans. And your decisions affect both people.
It’s: “Should I stay at home with my kids? Should I go back to work? Is it selfish to want time away from the children? Should I be budgeting better for college? Should I care that I haven’t showered in three days? Should I be playing more educational games with my children? Should I allow my children to look at ‘screens’? What’s my parenting method?”
And most importantly, it’s “What are my children learning from my perceived notions of myself and my behavior?”
What I’ve discovered is that everyone needs to come to terms with their choices, lifestyle, opinions, and ideas in their own way. It’s ok to have fears, even if they are societal in creation, as long as we can recognize them and learn how to accept ourselves. The key is to be confident in our decisions, our lifestyle, and ourselves. Be confident, people!
Ohh, and by the way… I am pregnant. Again.
And you know what? This time I’m doing it differently. I won’t fear the scale. I won’t hide the bump. And I will tell people, for instance whoever is reading this–stranger or not, that I am pregnant! Yup. Baby on board. Screaming it from the rafters.
And this time, I’ll be rocking it.
