Here I am, lumbering over the threshold of the third trimester and feeling every bit of it. It’s funny, because a week or three ago I would have smilingly copped to feeling physically “fine, actually!” for much of this pregnancy, but nature has a way of tapping the brakes coming into the homestretch, or something like that.
Plus, I think with this being my fourth championship round in 5 years, my body be like “oh hellllll no, not doing this again.” And so I find myself feeling suddenly very much like a nap-seeking elderly missile tottering through the afternoons trying to keep bleary eyes peeled wide enough to read the instructions on the Trader Joe’s pizza dough bag.
Know what I think the biggest culprit is?
Oy. I’ve never called myself a sweets person, always preferring the salt and vinegar chip bowl over the cookie platter, but I’m definitely seeing an uptick in my refined crack consumption this pregnancy. Maybe it’s because we’ve discovered Honey Maid graham crackers are dairy free and, therefore, have a seemingly endless supply of them on hand for poor casein-averse Joey, or maybe it’s because I’m gaining weight like a freight train anyway, so yolo, Cherry Garcia, but…enough.
I’ve been toying with the idea of going off sugar during this pregnancy for a while now. I did a 30 day no sugar challenge with Nell right after Christmas and felt so good by the end, but then I just went right back to my jelly-on-toast loving ways. Because here’s the thing, it’s actually much easier for me to be abstinent from something entirely than to exercise moderation, which is both an innate personality trait and a moral flaw that needs refining.
Case in point? (And here’s where the “budget” piece of this comes in): I haven’t set foot inside of Target for 5 solid months. And while I dearly miss my Up and Up brand diapers and my quick emotional pick me up on those difficult mothering days, it has essentially cured my overspending in the “home goods/clothing/blow” category (well, almost) just to stop shopping there.
And hey, if I can quit Big Red, I should be able to walk away from my beloved morning toast with jam. Right? Right.
I’d venture to say that for many women, pregnancy is tough in one way or another. For some moms it’s debilitating morning sickness and months-long nausea. For others it’s gestational diabetes, feelings of extreme anxiety or depression, or just a general experience of aches and pains. Maybe it’s fatigue or heartburn. Or maybe it’s just hard to see those numbers going up on the scale and that waistline expanding ever outward. For moms who were once girls who struggled with eating disorders, it can be a traumatizing jaunt down memory lane, into the land of the scale-as-god, good food vs. bad food, and punishing consequences for making the wrong choices at the table.
I’ve definitely found myself in the latter category, now four times over. And honestly? It hasn’t gotten a whole lot easier. If anything I’m more resigned to the inevitability of the weight gain because I know what happens despite my best intentions and most diligent efforts at the gym, and yeah, also because so far, I’ve been able to regain some measure of bodily equilibrium in between rounds.
But it’s still tough. And it’s really tempting to just admit defeat and eat the (insert cliche pregnancy craving here), because no matter what I put into the tank, that belly is just getting bigger and bigger.
However, with three other little people depending on me to keep my energy up and my mood stable for the whole day, not just until 3 pm, I really have to rethink my technique, especially now heading into (dare I hope?) summer.
So would you do me a favor? Would you pray for me? The spirit is willing, but the maternity-denim clad flesh is weak. Especially around nap time every afternoon.
And let me know if you have any tips or tricks up your sleeves? Got any third trimester best practices to share? Do tell.