This was going to be the one.
The third time around, I was going to be one of those women who ran 12 miles, uphill, in 95 degree heat, hours before giving birth. I would gain the minimum amount of weight. I would be back in my True Religions 27 minutes after delivery.
Basically, I would do what I hadn't done in my first two pregnancies: not come close to outweighing my husband.
Yes, in the span of two births less than two years apart, I gained 100 pounds.
Say that slowly. Onnnne Huuuuundred Pouuuuuuunds.
The good news is I lost it. All of it, and then some. The fact that I ran two marathons in the past year did help with the "and then some" part. And considering I ran San Diego Rock N Roll a month before getting knocked up, one would think I'd carry over that healthy living into this pregnancy.
One would be wrong.
First it was the fatigue, which slowed my pace. Then it was the bizarre nightmares that kept me up half the night, thereby making it impossible to make the 5 a.m. wakeup calls to go hit the pavement.
Next came the unrelenting nausea. I still worked out with my trainer for awhile, but then I realized I was just wasting money: any exertion made me have to sit down with my head between my knees and praying I didn't barf on the carpet. Then there was the morning someone was making cinnamon toast in the back room, which almost sent me running to fill the nearest wastebasket. I am still in mourning for my formerly awesome biceps that have slowly softened into mounds of soft-serve.
I did try to run on the treadmill once, but found that after already carrying two kids, those muscles that hold up your belly ain't what they used to be. All the bouncing was painful, to say nothing of my suddenly visible boobs that ached like someone was knifing them with each step.
I went through a phase of about a month where even thinking about water made me want to retch. So I drank Sprite morning, noon and night. Which is highly unusual, since I used to down 64 ounces of SmartWater a day (thankfully, I am off Sprite and back on water). But all those calories!
And as many of you moms know, when you feel nauseous, sometimes the only thing that makes you feel better is eating. So you do. Constantly. Not that your head is stuck in a half-gallon of Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch every night, but it's the small stuff: pretzels, goldfish crackers - anything carby - that add up. And up. And up.
The only thing that has happened recently to keep me from feeling like a complete blob is, when I went to get my amnio a few weeks ago, it actually hurt when they stuck the needle in - because I don't have any fat on my stomach. They also said I was easy to scan for the same reason.
So I guess I'm lucky they don't have to go through my ass (and no, not the poop chute, the cheeks) or my thighs. Because Lord knows, they'd still be trying to delve through mounds of fat.
The truth is, I believe in the total body pregnancy. Why let my stomach get all the glory? Why not spread it around? I like to be well balanced, so I figure I can let my butt grow exponentially.
Even at 20 weeks, women who didn't know me before will comment "You're pregnant?" if I happen to mention it. I'm all "Um, yeah, I don't normally walk around with a matching ass/belly set!"
Thankfully, the baby is perfectly healthy, despite my best efforts to drown him in mallowcreme pumpkins.
I do gaze longingly at my cute clothes. I am now into the stretchy-stuff only for non-maternity wear, and figure I will burn my black Lucy skirts after I lose this weight - unless they disintegrate before that.
Even seeing my running shorts make me nostalgic. I am aiming for the New York Marathon in 2010.
But first, I need to get through this marathon of pregnancy, delivery, recovery, sleepless nights, nursing, and - oh yeah - getting back into shape.
Until then...Popcorn, anyone?
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