As time goes on, I am very aware of how I am changing, and while I know the reasons why and try desperately to take the overplayed advice of silly websites and friends, “just remember it’s all for a good cause!” I can’t help but feel depressed. I certainly hope I’m not setting myself up for a depression, but I can certainly see how psychologically this state of mind can be induced, especially in the case of a woman such as myself.
To begin with, the obvious. I was once a drinker, a smoker, I liked to relax and while I didn’t party or go to many clubs, I still had the luxury of a nice buzz on regular occasions while letting loose. Giving that up immediately wasn’t a big deal, until five months down the road you’re stressed, on the verge of a “vacation” from the toils of work, you’re frustrated because you’re gaining weight (and not even beer weight!) and herbal tea just doesn’t cut it (no offense to the hippies and their relaxation techniques, but sometimes it just can’t compare with a rich, flavorful bottle of wine and some dancing). Okay, so it goes without saying that those aren’t going to be a part of my life, and for good reason.
Next, as the ounces begin to pile on at a startling rate, I’m not able to do the things I once was with ease. I was bigger, sure, but I also had lots of muscle and power to back it up. Now, sitting up, even the simplest tasks like bending over to pick up that annoying piece of lint that somehow got stuck in the carpet and thwarted my vacuum cleaner remind me of a bulging bubble in my way. Oh sure, tell me to squat, doesn’t make the bubble any less. I went to get in and out of Vince’s car the other day, and was heartbroken to realize now I have to adjust the seat after getting in and before getting out, and forget about sitting up (I always sit up when I drive so I am more alert), the steering wheel reminds me I can’t go too far forward. So now… where I once felt that even if I was a bit larger I was still strong, now I feel flabby and weak to top it off.
I can’t imagine what it would be like if I had the full blown pregnancy symptoms (throwing up, sensitive smell, erratic mood swings ect.) Still, at least if I was sick and miserable I wouldn’t be worrying about my looks, right?
It’s true, the “I’m unattractive” bug has hit and hit hard. Although, to be quite honest I don’t entirely blame myself, or anyone for that matter. Yet as the situation goes, it’s pretty hard to feel beautiful when no one’s really interested in you anymore. That is to say, if they are showing you interest, it’s baby interest, it’s “aww, you’re going to be a mom” interest. It’s “look at your belly!” comments these days and people wanting to touch your… (sigh) stomach. I try to keep a sense of humor. Vincent jokes about me “protruding” and I give him hell right back. I am trying to avoid becoming that whiny, emotional woman. It’s a firm belief of mine that I’ll only make matters worse if I keep bringing up how ugly I feel. When a woman says she’s ugly, she triggers a reaction from others, but not the one she wants. Typically, it’s a protective reaction, one in which the people that care about her suddenly feel guilty themselves, or try to empathize by telling her she’s sure pretty and screw anyone who thinks otherwise… thereby making the problem worse. Still, because I have to look at myself in the mirror every day and deal with these issues on a constant basis, it’s pretty hard to let go, and I end up mentioning it at least once.
In my quiet disappointment I have turned to other people. I don’t know what I’m looking for really. Logic dictates that no one can do anything, but still, I find myself strangely ensnared in that horrible loop I so desperately wanted to avoid. Then, people give me advice like this: “Just feel sexy! You’re gorgeous!” Ok, easier said than accomplished. Remind me again how I am supposed to feel attractive when I go to a club and watch these tiny girls dance. I know I don’t belong up there. Clubs are for the mating crowd, and I’m all used up right now. I’m “that pregnant chick. What’s she doing out? Shouldn’t she be at home baby proofing the house?” That’s right, because you know, pregnant people are different. We don’t need to feel pretty or require attention, we should just be focused on the baby, all the time.
And don’t get me wrong, I am excited. I bought baby clothes just the other day and was so excited. Yet a shadow is starting to form and I don’t like it. It’s not the baby’s fault I’m not pretty. But it’s not like I opened my arms and said, “Hey! Pregnancy! Please make my stomach huge so people look at it instead of me. While you’re at it, I could use some stretch marks, a flushed face, and fatter ankles too and feet that throb! Oh, and please, make my gut feel weird whenever I try to work out or move certain ways too. I’d especially like it if you’d do as much as possible to make my daytime life an extra struggle so that where people once saw a pretty young lady now they can visualize a mass of weird, mechanical, moving parts all working to manufacture a little person.”
I wish, sometimes, that I were a man. That’s been mentioned before, I know. Now, however, I tend to wish it a little more often. Men can run away, and I don’t mean run away forever. But even if I were just going to work, popping off at the store. As a woman, people see that I’m pregnant, and it’s unavoidable. As a man, it’d be such a relief to walk into a store, flirt for a minute with a stranger and be assured, ultimately, that I was still appealing. I would give anything right now to be on opposite ends, dealing with an emotional mess of a woman and at the end of my day, popping open a beer to wash it all down.
So, my only alternative is to compensate. It’s what I do best. Feeling deprived? Buy yourself something, is what my mom told me. Buy yourself a lot of somethings, if necessary.
I need to do something fast though, because I find that if you can’t compensate reasonably for the things you need, you end up doing it in unhealthy ways. I notice that despite my extra vitamins, I’m sleepier (a sign of depression), and I eat unhealthy more often than I did originally. Oh yes, and I am certainly not in the mood to go on my planned vacation anymore. I’m finding myself becoming increasingly angry with the idea of vacation (a trip to Michigan to see my mother). Feeling the way I do now, why the hell would I want to get even larger, then get on a plane so that I can be bombarded by people who just want to talk about the new addition to the family?
While post partum depression is not something I am entirely familiar with, I can see why some mothers experience it to some degree. Nine whole freaking months of this. It’s like preparing for your death, and once the scene comes only for your to discover you’re still alive you’re completely drained. I’m going through nine months of changes, or preparation, and at the end there is no end. I will wake up and a brand new life will have begun, and this one will be a new set of tasks to learn as quickly as possible. For mom, there’s no slowing down once it’s started. At least, for dad’s, they still have time to cope, to clear up their doubts and have their nights of binge drinking as they freak out.
Feeling like “mom” already has done some major damage to my psyche. I can only hope that I break out of it, and that I can be semi-attractive again at some point. Sometimes I actually feel like I’ve figured out the key, that it’s just a matter of mind. Not that simple, as it turns out.
Sometimes, I just want to tell Vincent, my male friends, and even my single female friends: “There’s an exercise out there for the blind I had to do when I was little. You had to keep your eyes closed and walk all around your house in the dark. So, with that in mind, try strapping weights to your stomach, or just wear a backpack backwards filled with water and weight. Now, for the rest of the day go about your business and see if you can’t act like it’s nothing. But wait! Don’t forget not to bend over or lift heavy things because you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t drink or smoke, or eat too badly. Make sure you don’t strain yourself but you still need to “nest” with a bit of preparation and don’t plan on getting a hot tub to relax after. Don’t drink caffeine either, but be sure to drink lots of water. Oh and your pants? You can’t button them unless they are over that backpack, so you probably want to get the stretchy kind for this exercise. If you really want to you can go to a club, but when people look at you funny, or don’t find you appealing, don’t worry, because it’s for a good cause.” And hey, that’s not including stretch marks, cravings, vomiting, or any other side effects!
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