Unexpected Ego Boost

I am a female.  Therefore, there are certain stereotypes you could make about me that are true.  There are others, of course, that are utterly untrue.  But one that is true?  I have never been 100% completely happy with my body.  I admit it.  I was never one to openly complain about it.  I have never been overweight and there have even been times when I have been in semi-decent shape.  But I always had some body part or other that I didn’t like, or wished was bigger, smaller, smoother, firmer.  You name it.  This makes me human.  I know this.

When we were trying to get pregnant, and it kept not happening, I sometimes hated my body.  Like really, really hated it.  Not because of how it looked or was shaped, but how it was failing to fulfill the one thing I believed it had been designed to accomplish.  It wouldn’t cooperate.  Even then, when we finally did get pregnant, I had a subchorionic hemorrhage that felt like my body’s last ditch effort to say “Screw you! I won’t do what you want me to!”

This really upset me, for more than just the obvious reasons.  Pregnancy seemed to be a time for other women to thrill in what their bodies were capable of, whereas mine was rebelling in every way.  When it wasn’t one thing, it was another.  Not being able to get pregnant, then getting pregnant but hemorrhaging, then finding out I had a genetic mutation (which turned out to not be a big deal).  My body was betraying me around every turn.

But now.  Now I am eighteen weeks pregnant, and things seem to be going well (I say as I spit on the ground, toss salt over my shoulder, knock on wood, and cross myself seven hundred times).   Our first and second trimester screenings both came back with excellent results, our baby is developing nicely, and I look pregnant.  Boy oh boy do I look pregnant.

My bra has gone up a cup size and a band size, and already my new ones are getting tight.  I’ve been wearing maternity pants since week 12 and maternity tops since week 14 or 15.  I’m waddling now.  My posture is different.  My nails and hair are growing at light speed.  My skin is doing weird things.

In short, if I ever was going to hate my body, I would expect it to be now.  But it’s not.  I am loving it.  I love the way I look during pregnancy.  Oh sure, I wish my skin wouldn’t be so oily and my hair would stop frizzing out like crazy.  But I feel beautiful for the first time in a while.  I am forgiving my body for misbehaving for so long.  I feel confident and good about the way I look (even when my boss tells me every. single. day. how tired I look).  I am raking in the compliments about my cute maternity wardrobe and my surprisingly big bump, even enjoying when people chuckle at the way I waddle around the halls at work.  And it helps that my husband is definitely a fan of my newly voluptuous figure.  Just sayin.

I have realized that this is definitely what my body was made for.  Even if she resisted my attempts to get her here for a long time, now that she’s here, she’s fabulous.  I may not feel this way a few months from now.  And I definitely have days where I feel roughly the size of a small whale.  But still.  I like this look.  I am about as un-self-conscious as I’ve ever been about my figure.  And I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

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