No room for egos at 22 weeks
My body has decided it’s time to do something about my ego. Rightly, it figures that making me climb bum first then legs together into a car as if I’d forgotten to wear underpants would be the best way to go about it.
It started with the swim session I told you about the other day. You know, the one where I began to accept my body? Well, it turns out that while I had come to terms with the whole mountain-boobed-globe-bellied thing, my body’s limits and I have still been at odds.
I honestly tried to be good. While my friend Emily went straight into one of the faster lanes, I decided to stay in the frustratingly slow lane. I was so bored that I promised to upgrade next time we go. I still managed to overdo it.
The day after, I felt the pain in my arms. Good pain. But I also felt it in my thighs. Weird. My legs can usually deal no matter how out of practice I am.
As the day wore on, after a 45-minute walk, I realised that actually I felt like I’d been spending too much time on a horse (this was my imagining what being horseback might feel like. I’ve never been).
Was I really that unfit? Surely a little 20-minute swim couldn’t de-commission me so easily. I basically told my body, “Don’t be such a weakling” but was relieved when we took the bus home.
I suppose another person, a more cautious and sensible type, would have decided that it was time to take things easy. Whatever part of the brain enables someone like that to arrive at such a conclusion, it’s clearly gone missing in my I’m-only-pregnant bravado.
So, since we’re moving home this weekend, I’ve been packing and climbing and lifting and even jumping – basically daring my body to do it’s worst.
Then last night, I packed and stacked a couple of boxes and began to push them over to the other side of the room. Oh. That bending didn’t feel too good. Ok, let’s give them a kick across instead, shall we? Uh, sit down.
I spent my night having to sit up every time I wanted to change positions and had to get dressed this morning sitting down. I naively thought the worst thing that could happen was that my back could go out. That’s something I could deal with. I’ve grown up with scoliosis so backaches and I are well-acquainted.
But why the Gorgon did no one tell me that about half of pregnant women do their pelvises in? Is this some kind of sick joke – hiding information like this from the uninitiated?
I rang up my midwife today and she tells me it’s incredibly common. Really? REALLY? Then why no little warning? All the mothers I know, I’m adding this to the list of things you never told me about pregnancy. Not that I blame you. It’s not exactly polite conversation. But let’s add this one to the stinging nipples, shall we?
One of the incredible things about pregnancy is that every time I think I’ve got the hang of things, that I’m now a pro, nature has a way of reminding me that this is the one experience that I can’t control.
There’s only room for my baby or my ego – my body won’t hold both.
Image: Kate Ter Haar