Going into this pregnancy, I always knew the last trimester would be rough. I expected bloating. I expected needing to waddle wherever I go. I expected to hate how my looks.
Oddly, none of that has been the rough part about this last trimester. I am not bloated, for some miraculous reason. I am not exactly waddling. And I wouldn’t classify my feelings about my body as hatred, exactly. I mean, I’m huge, but I’m also not grossed out by myself. (Believe me when I saw that this is a huge step for me.)
The roughest part about the last couple of weeks in particular is a feeling of betrayal from my body. I had been doing so well for so long. I was even OK with the slow ramping down of my activity level. I could no longer run 4 miles in 40 minutes, but I could knock out 2 miles in a bit under a half hour. I could not run up the 8 billion stairs in my house, but I could walk up 2 flights and feel pretty reasonable. I signed up for, and therefore expected, this slow down.
And then this week happened. I ran (jogged) on Monday - 1.5 miles in 21 minutes on my treadmill. I felt OK. I went to work… and then the pain started. Not the sciatica I have learned to deal with over the last couple of weeks. I am talking Pain, with a capital P. In my butt. In my pelvis. In my back. It was so bad, I could barely walk, at least not without a lot of shuffling and profanity.
Now, the kiddo was (and is) still (very happily) kicking throughout all of this. I chatted with the doctor and confirmed that she was and is absolutely fine. However, I was not. I made an appointment with a physical therapist and bought a maternity belt (a piece of clothing I did not know existed before 3pm on Monday).
My new reality:
No running. No dancing. No running. No performing for 3 days in a row. No running.
Can you guess which part of this I’m the most upset about?
I mean, this is only true for the next 2 months and I suppose I was lucky to have been able to be so active for the first 7+ months of this pregnancy. A lot of soon-to-be moms can’t. But still. Running keeps me sane. So, if you see me crying in a corner, please bring cake. It’s going to be a long 2 months.