What She Wore: White turtleneck; red, cable-knit sweater; olive green pants; red snow boots.
I said I wouldn’t mention it very much, but today is just the day for this entry. . .
In seventh grade I was voted "cutest figure." I’m not saying this to brag, and I have by no means ever been a Hawaiian Tropic model, but for most of my life, I’ve been satisfied with my body. Even as I type this, I realize that this puts me in the minority of American women. Let me repeat: it’s not like I was all that and a bag of chips, but I was happy with my body most of the time. When my weight climbed, I simply cut back.
But that has all changed. I am not one of those cute, little pregnant women. I found out I was pregnant and put on five pounds even though I was eating more healthy than usual. Now, I’m over the recommended guidelines for weight gain, and there’s no dieting at this point. My body is not my own and that’s a scary thought. I look down and have no idea where this stomach came from. This baby is gonna be a eight pounder for sure. My walk has changed, there are certain chairs I don’t want to sit it, and if put myself on the floor, it’s a whole ordeal to get myself back up.
The added dimension to this situation is that I don’t FEEL pregnant. I wasn’t a person who had three months of nausea. I’ve had few symptoms other than heart burn which I’ve had before. I see the scans, I know there’s a baby in there, and I’m happy that it’s thriving. Logically, I get that. But my guts are just trying to figure out what the heck is going on here. Is there a baby in there? I know I sound crazy, but that’s where I am.
Now, I’m going to waddle over to the couch and watch some E! Enjoy your weekend.