Previous submission here.
My age: 28
I have had one birth so far, and am 22 weeks pregnant with my second.
My daughter is 2 years and 9 months old.
I was 155 pounds when I posted my first entry, 3 weeks after my daughter was born. I was optimistic about losing 15 pounds.
I was 155 pounds when I posted an update on my daughter’s first birthday. Since I hadn’t really tried, I knew those 15 pounds would be easy to lose.
I was 155 pounds when I got my second positive pregnancy test, when my daughter was 2 years and 5 months old. I realized those 15 pounds weren’t going anywhere, but I was okay with it.
And two weeks ago, at 20 weeks pregnant, I stepped on the scale, saw 155, and squealed in delight. Then ran out, got my husband, and made him come back and see.
My weight hasn’t really bothered me since I became a mother. I love my shape, I’m okay with that. What I hate is being unfit. Of huffing and puffing after walking up stairs, or chasing my toddler around. I had this fear that if I ended up holding on to 15 pounds after every pregnancy, I WOULD end up hating my weight.
I decided that this time around, I would eat better and exercise, with the hopes that my maternity pants would still fit at the end. Apparently I jinxed myself. The day my period was due, I ate a plate of nachos and left for work—and very nearly threw them up on the way there. Nausea is nothing out of the ordinary for me, but when my normal coping measures did NOTHING throughout the night, I knew something was up. I stopped on my way home, got a pregnancy test, and sure enough it was positive.
By 4 weeks and 5 days I was on Zofran and barely functioning. I am emetophobic; I have been afraid of vomit and vomiting for so long that my body literally can’t do it anymore, until the situation is so dire I’m begging for relief. Severe nausea also causes panic attacks, the lightheadedness and racing heart are really “helpful” when you feel like you’re already miserable. I am going to clarify that I have not vomited in either pregnancy (though not for lack of trying sometimes). I “just” spend 24/7 with this horrible, debilitating nausea that NEVER GOES AWAY, and an aversion to almost every food imaginable. There were days when I’d drive 20 minutes to the nearest Panera because the only thing I could even consider stomaching was an apple cinnamon crunch muffin. I’ve discovered that people don’t take nausea—as an ailment on its own, and not as a precursor to vomiting—seriously. The response to throwing up is “oh, are you okay?!”, but the response to nausea is, “suck it up and deal with it, at least you’re not throwing up!” The nausea and resultant dizzy spells were so bad that I quit my job when I was 10 weeks—something even my first pregnancy didn’t make me do. I never thought I’d be so desperate to gain weight. (Being upset about not gaining weight doesn’t gain you any sympathy, either, by the way).
I was 153 pounds, naked, when I found out I was pregnant. At my 8 week appointment I was 154 pounds, clothed. The lowest I saw was 146. The nausea started to improve around 18 weeks, and finally at my 20 week appointment I weighed 157. I was twice threatened with hospitalization for IV fluids/nourishment, but I managed to scrape by without it. As of three days ago I’m down to one Zofran a day, as part of getting-out-of-bed routine. I am hopeful.
Despite all of this, I LOVE being pregnant. I love the pregnant shape and watching my belly grow. I pick out clothes based on how well they show off my bump. I love those relaxed second-timer muscles that are giving me a bigger belly than I had last time (I do NOT love the relaxed second-timer round ligaments, though). I love feeling my second little girl dance around, a joy I never really got with my first because of her anterior placenta and her apparent predilection for hanging out wrapped around my spine. I am planning a VBAC, and I’m really hopeful for breastfeeding this time around (I nursed for 13 months with my first, but flat nipples, the cesarean, and a tongue tie made it hell at first). I’d have 12 kids if I thought I could handle it, just to continue being pregnant…but as it is we’re settled at three. The thought of going through the nausea even one more time is enough to stop me at three.
This picture is yesterday, at 22 weeks pregnant. Every week we take a picture and the weird shadow annoys me, but then I forget to try to fix the lighting the next week, so I guess I’m stuck with it. I’ve been going back and forth on not cropping my face out, but in the end I couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of having a fully nude photo of all of me on the internet where anyone can see. Maybe next time…