This weekend was probably one of the worst weekends I have had in …. I can’t even remember. It was a terrible weekend. I was ridiculously uncomfortable, I felt like Kamel was making my life harder instead of being the partner I really needed him to be. I also know that he was frustrated, the weekend wasn’t at all going his way either. And sometimes when we rely on the other one to fix it it ends up making it a bajillion times worse.
Sometimes I resent that Kamel gets to keep all of his bits just the way they are, he gets to keep on his own career track, keep his stamina and then in the end he gets to also be a dad. And I’m here, making these giant physical leap sacrifices, slowing down my life, coming to terms with everything I know about my body being turned upside down in order to be a mom. I know that what I am doing is powerful and awesome. I know that Kamel wishes all of the time he could experience some of the pregnancy – partly so that I could have a minute of relief and partly because he wants to know what it feels like when the baby moves, when the baby kicks. He wants all of that stuff. But, it’s still unfair. His path seems so much easier than mine.
Sunday night I had a brain full of bad dreams. Bad dreams about spiders – bright blue ones – bad dreams about getting ready for work and being late – stress dreams – and dreams about trying to buy normal-people pants and not having them fit over the tops of my thighs. Body image is a huge huge part of the pregnancy world, and it’s really difficult. You go into it knowing that you’re going to get the big belly, and you’re going to gain weight and things are going to shift and change. This is not a shocker. So I sort of just went with it, like I went with most everything about being pregnant. I rolled with it so much that I still catch myself in the mirror and marvel at the fact that I am actually pregnant…. like for reals. My high school self is totally freaking out right now. But now that I am truly almost done with this, I worry about the afterwards. And I know that it can take a year to get your body back, and it took 9 months to pack on the lbs and go through all of the changes so I should give myself that time in return. BUT! But but but but but! All of that is so much easier said than done. I have my vanities. We all do. I don’t want to go back to work after my time off and feel like I still look semi-pregnant. I think it is the unknown that is scariest. What will my body do? How quickly will I actually recover? What is going to happen to me? I can only control what I can control, so I’m just going to take one thing at a time.
My weekend was stupid. It was so dumb. I hated it. And I cried a lot on Sunday. I haven’t had a really good fit-throwing meltdown in a really long time, so maybe I was due. I was doing so well – I was sore, walking was difficult, showing up at work every day was getting harder – but I was doing it, and it really didn’t seem so bad. But then the end of last week and this weekend it all just got so much harder. Maybe it is the constant discomfort, the pain when I walk, the gobs of energy it takes me just to walk to the car and heave myself into the passenger seat. Maybe it was the complete lack of communication with my husband that seemed even more draining on top of how much concentration and commitment it takes me to even pick up something off the floor. Or maybe it was just that I really wanted a costco hot dog and they were closed. It was probably a lot of things, all the things. And this weekend just sucked.
But then you know what happened? Monday was pretty good. I woke up with my buddy in the morning, and we both knew that the weekend had been horrible, but… it was over. I wore a new black maxi dress I had bought at Target…. I forgot to wear leggings underneath it and rubbed my poor chubby thighs raw on the way to the train station after work. But then Kamel gave me a bath before bed and the rawness felt better. Everyone – and I mean everyone – stares at me when I walk down the street. Especially little kids. They rubber neck all of the time. I’m sure that the majority of people on the street where I work are concerned I’m going to spontaneously break my water right there in front of them. But I just look away… maybe it’s to let them gawk in peace, maybe it’s just so I don’t have to be so aware of all the eyes, but it’s easier to just focus on the forward.
Sometimes weekends suck. Sometimes things are harder than you thought they would be. But then it gets better. Sometimes it takes a lot of snotty tear-filled kleenexes. Or tater tots at 9pm. Or a warm bath. Sometimes it turns out not so bad.