I know I'm an ingrate in that you all said such nice things on my last super-angsty post...and I've not yet thanked any of you for it. Thank you. I'll comment back soon, I will.
I mean, not that you're on pins and needles. But I want to. I just...haven't.
It's been one of those crappo weeks that claws at your self-esteem from multiple angles. The kind of weeks were if one weren't pregnant, one might go home at night after work and open a bottle of wine and sit in the corner and swill the whole damn thing. And do it again the next night. Which I don't think I've actually done since I was single, now that I think about it.
It sounds pretty good to me, actually.
Anyway.
Tuesday started with a fight with Nick, and then turned into a day in which my abilities at work were called into question even though it was a misunderstanding and not something I hadn't actually been on top of and I just felt fucking miserable all day long. Even if I don't love my job every minute, I'm a first born rule follower. I get my stuff done. If people think I'm doing a bad job, I feel like shit.
Wednesday began at the midwives with MY WEIGHT. The nurse didn't even have me pee first!
You know how last time I didn't let them tell me how much I weighed? And it was just a big surprise at the end?
This time I thought I'd grown (personally, I mean) and that I could take it. But no matter how many times I tell myself YOU'RE PREGNANT, I still cannot take the numbers in stride.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
I've now hit the weight I was freshman year of college. When I spent most of the time sitting on my dorm room floor, crying, eating chocolate, and not being able to fit into any clothes but sweats.
Weight gain for me is inextricably linked with misery. And panic. And self-flagellation. I cannot handle the numbers. I should never know them.
I emailed Nick while waiting for the midwife to come in. "I'm a big fat cow. Here's proof: LARGE (for me) NUMBER."
And then I was all, "But I had my sneakers on. (It's true - the thought of relacing was just too much.) And I'm wearing a very heavy necklace. Oh, plus, I had rocks in my bra."
Here's what makes me so mad at myself about it. My midwives are totally happy with where I am. I'm doing the things I need to do for my own body and for a healthy baby. I'm eating well. I'm not eating crap. And I'm exercising.
I'm not going to cut down on my food intake, because that's just stupid and unhealthy in pregnancy. I'm so totally within the guidelines. Except by my panicked calculation, at this rate, I'm going to be heavier at the end than I was last time. When I was one week overdue.
Which is fine. It's still within reasonable range. Technically, It's all fine. Really.
And still, there's this little asshole Danger! Danger! Fix it! voice in my head telling me how fat I am.
I'm closing my eyes next time. I totally am.
I can offer honesty....I don't know how to smother the little voice in my head either but focusing on the fact that you're healthy, eating well and exercising and recognizing that your midwives are pleased with your progress....will make the voice in your head quieter or shift to more positive thoughts. I hope that's the case. I'm sorry it's been a crappy week for you, just know that everything will be all right. Hugs! I'll keep you in my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteThank you, HK. I am trying to focus more on the positive and kick the voice out. Hugs back to you!
DeleteI'm sorry you're feeling crappy. I was a total heifer after having Josie, and even though people said, "oh, you just had a baby, you look beautiful," I felt like a fat cow. I know it's no consolation, but based on the picture you posted the other day, you look like you're all belly -- no face chub or anything like that. In any event, I think not looking at the number is an excellent idea. Hugs to you.
ReplyDeleteI thought you looked great in your pictures, and it's healthy to gain the weight...it's just so hard not to feel like a fat cow. No, I don't get the weight in my face so much. It's belly and butt and thighs. I need to not know the numbers.
DeleteWell, if it's any consolation, you felt this way with Jordan, and when I saw you at the reunion in 2010, you looked thin and ripped and gorgeous. So whatever you gain, you clearly know how to take it off. :)
DeleteIt kind of sounds like maybe you need a massage. There's something about an hour of someone focused entirely on caring for you that makes it easier for you to genuinely take care of yourself, including thinking better thoughts.
ReplyDeleteAnd failing that, whenever I start beating myself up, I sometimes try to think of something nice to do for someone I care about - something a little involved, like making a mix CD or cooking/baking something, so I'm distracted for a bit.
Good luck, and {hugs}
A massage sounds like a great idea. Maybe one for next weekend. And a fun little project for someone else also sounds like a very nice approach.
DeleteWell, look at it this way,instead of worrying about your weight you could be in a panic about how the hell you're going to get that thing out of there. So see, it's the lesser of two evils. You're welcome. And for the record I have had months like that in my life. And I'm having a day like that today and the cat just better not walk past me. I with ya sistah.
ReplyDeleteHahaha! That panic will come soon enough. Thanks for the bright side! And there are always days like this - here's hoping your has passed. Hugs to you.
DeleteYes! What they said! Massage -- you deserve one every two weeks, minimum; and don't look at the numbers. During my pregnancies, at the weigh-ins, I was often very lucky to be on a kg scale, so even if I got a glimpse of the numbers (after stripping off shoes, coat, sweater, pants (kidding!)) then it was, like, 68 or something and so didn't freak me out. Of course, that would mean being ignorant of the kg to lb conversion. Which I was and happily remain.
ReplyDeleteShutting the eyes works too though.
Oh, this is electronic pounds scale. And my old office did it in the exam room, so you totally had time to strip down. This one does it in the hallway on the way in, so I feel silly even asking to take off boots, although I did that last time because my winter boots must weigh 5 lbs. But then the nurse said something like, "Yes, I know, want to take off every bit of extra!" or something like that and I was thinking all, oh fuck you.
DeleteYes, massage. No to numbers.
New follower here - If it's any consolation I gained the same weight (not small) with all three of my kids. With the first pregnancy they were telling me off but it plateau'd in the 3rd trimester. With the 3rd, I didn't gain anything till 18 weeks and they were telling me off for that! For the most part it's out of your control, and if you're within the guidelines, just chill and remember it's not permanent.
ReplyDelete