Ok so I have less than 6 weeks till our due date, and I will start with the formalities in saying, I have been so lucky/blessed/grateful/thankful/forever in debt to breeze through the last 8 months. The whole pregnancy has been smooth sailing, my head never ended up in the toilet bowl, I never felt queasy, I was never overly tired and I didn’t start showing until 28 weeks. Things have been blissful AF and to be honest I was wondering why all the girls in my forum and apps complain so much.
But things have since turned a corner, and I am in fact, over it.
Nothing in my wardrobe fits me. My pelvis hurts. My groin aches. I wear this stupid thing under all my clothes that reminds me of the material Supre belts we all used to represent, and my inner legs feel as though I have overused one of those 90s Thigh Masters (which I have vivid memories of mum using while we watched Hey Hey Its Saturday). It’s fucked. I hold my maternity pillow more intimately then I have ever held Pat and I literally can’t reach the charger to plug my phone in without a 15-minute inner pep talk psyching myself up to make the roll over.
As I mentioned, sweat pants are all that fit me right now so I mustered up the courage for a trip to Sportsgirl. Not long after I was in the change room to find the bastards have a double mirror system going on, I was in ‘good-ish’ spirits when something caught my eye in the back mirror; My ASS and its new gate crashing, uninvited friend; cellulite. And at that point the lovely girl asked ‘you going ok for sizes in there hun?’ she could probably hear that I was out of breath because- well I’m always out of breath. ‘All good’ I said politely but what I really wanted to say was ‘make yourself useful, and get some Windex to clean this filthy mirror that’s making it appear that I have cellulite.’ And please, spare me that bullshit of ‘you’re growing a baby, its beautiful’ no it’s not beautiful when your petite nipples have suddenly grown to the size of the lounge room ottoman - and if I get one more friend who snickers ‘I love seeing you get fat’ I kid you not I will body slam them to the motherfnking ground.
After shopping I went home and cried a little on the wardrobe floor, partly due to not being able to find a matching bed sock but also because I suddenly don’t feel at ease in my own body, everything is beginning to hurt, ache or swell and I no longer recognised myself. I sat there in tears and thought ‘you have one more event to attend, one more week of work and then you have no obligation to leave the bedroom until you are a bridesmaid in November.’ I had warned Pat that I was close to 2007 head shaving Britney Spears and to be prepared for a real sight when he got home from work, but as per usual, he was lovely and cheered me up with a pizza.
I am not one to complain… actually, I will rephrase that, I am selective with how and who I complain to. I am very big on positive thoughts bringing positive returns so I needed to snap out of the self pity before the negativity gods punished me with a traumatic, bloody birth. I woke up the next day with a totally new perspective on it all, I put it down to hormones. A bit of a bad day in what has been a pretty good 34 weeks (which quite frankly I am allowed to have). I spent the morning with Atticus before having a blissfully long shower, hair treatment and face mask. I looked down at my Buddha belly and felt grateful for the relatively unharmed journey we are on together. I made myself a cuppa and listened to Australian Birth Story podcast. It got me pumped to have this baby and gave me back the appreciation for my body and what crazy shit it is doing with or without cellulite. It’s pretty miraculous.
As the light begins to show at the end of the tunnel it’s hard to not feel over it but I am fully aware the next 6 weeks of being just ‘me’ is a time to lap up. I will be spending what is left of this journey in my cozy dressing gown and perhaps I will get myself a service bell, because that’s how obnoxious I deserve to be.