Today I went in for one of the millions of tests many 'high risk' mothers go in for. It's a simple blood draw, but still the insisted on weighing me in. Now, I don't put too much stock in the scale as a measure of health and fitness, but I'll admit to still having that mild moment of deep-seeded panic when I go to step on the scale. I've gotten to the point now though, as the scale slowly climbs ever higher, that I try not to pay attention at all. In truth, I don't take my shoes off or try to weigh less than I do. Doctor's offices tend to weigh me in at the WORST times of day anyway.
But I'll admit to a quiet bought of "WTF?! OMG I'm getting FAT!" when I got on the scale today at the doctor's office and saw a triple digit number I struggled with for a couple years appear on the scale - and it didn't start with a 1.
Now, keep in mind that this was likely the WORST time of day to weigh in. I hadn't gotten adequate sleep and I'd just eaten a real breakfast less than an hour before. So it's likely the weight displayed was about 5lbs off, but the truth of the matter reminds.
I'm getting bigger.
And I'm going to continue to get bigger - odds are. Okay, so I've put on about 15lbs and I'm about 1/2 way through my pregnancy. Not so bad, all things considered. It's been a really good test in positive self-talk, as well as a great way to be conscious about my own body image. Even as a Coach and Trainer, we all have our hang ups. It's how much we let those hang ups dictate/impact our lives that we have a choice about. A conscious choice.
So I could have gone around all day, feeling much more out of proportion than I am, or I could just ignore it for now, and head on with my day - which included going to the gym to get my workout in.
I opted to go to the gym. (Okay, so I had a couple of badass lifting clients to see, but I was interested to get my own workout in once I was done with them.)
The workout went well. I was able to jerk within 10 lbs of my lifetime max still, and I actually got a power snatch I'd been missing for the past month-ish. All in all, I was very happy with what I'm able to do.
And - all of a sudden- the 'weight' didn't matter. Because I can do the things I love to do, and I get to be involved in the success and wellness of others. When I did start to feel huge later on in the day, I reminded myself that it's likely to all melt off when the Bean gets here. I just have to keep doing what I'm doing and we'll all be just fine. I know my crew remind me of it all the time - and they wouldn't lie to me. I choose to believe them rather than stress out (for long) about 'what if's.
Many women would say 'enjoy pregnancy' or 'embrace the experience'. I think I do that about as much as I can. I find the humor in a lot of things - including the strange noises I make getting up and down lately - but it's hard to 'embrace' the physiological consequences of pregnancy (like getting excited that I didn't wake up with a nose bleed for a whole 2 weeks, or that I went a whole 2 days without heartburn, or that my hips randomly decide they are done responding 1/2 way through warm up and then get back on the band wagon 15 minutes later...). Yes, I get that it's all a means to an end. The Bean and I are both healthy, and that's the important part - no matter that digit staring back at me on the scale.
Sure, I've retired my jeans, not 'for good', but just for now (the waistline makes sitting uncomfortable and an uncomfortable pregnant lady is a grouchy pregnant lady...and NOBODY wants that). But they'll stick around in my closet. Someday soon enough I'll be grateful that I kept them - just like I'm grateful I kept some clothes from my 200-some lb days.
Oh, wait... those 200-some lb days are back!
Weird.
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