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