14 weeks

October 11, 2023

14 weeks (exactly!)

I’m at quite a weird point in the pregnancy at the moment. Mostly visually. The inner physical side of it has shifted, thankfully. I feel less sick, less tired (although not quite pre-pregnancy level of health). A pesky new symptom has arisen of an intense pressure on my bladder that makes me feel like I’m desperate to pee at all times, including throughout the night. It’s really tricky to fool your brain into sleeping when it’s got an alarm ringing, begging you to go to the toilet. I’m hoping this eases as my uterus rises out of my pelvis and more into my abdomen over the next little while. This movement of organs (weird!!) should also contribute to the confusing profundity I’m currently facing: my changing body. Or, what’s more accurate, my not-very-changed-but-subtly-different body of earlyish pregnancy.

For the moment, I mostly feel like I’m just a bit chubby. I’m rounder around the middle, the main place I carry weight when I go through my natural fluctuations. It’s strange, after spending a lifetime conditioned to be concerned about the shape of my body, particularly my belly, to now be forced into embracing its roundness. Due to my pre-existing curves, though, this extra chub more or less fits right in with my overall shape, supporting the “just put on some weight” look. Which is fine! I’m not complaining about looking bigger - largeness isn’t something to be ashamed of, and women’s bodies are constantly shifting and changing with age, hormones, natural cycles and general life. This isn’t my first weight fluctuation rodeo. It is, however, the first time I don’t have the option to stop it where it is, or work on fitting back into my closet of clothes. I already had large boobs, so their growth is easier to disguise for me than it would be for a B-cup suddenly being a D-cup. Big boobs are big boobs, people pay them less attention or at least their growth is easier to overlook. It’s less of a “whoa, what’s going on there?” and more of a “huh, didn’t realise they were always that big, who knew?”. I also always had a little pudge around my waist, no matter how little I weighed at any point in my adult life, it’s never gone away. It’s distinctly bigger to me now, but again, very easy to roll into an overall “gone up a size, not necessarily pregnant” look.

Depending on how I hold myself, I can either look pregnant, or just… like me.

It’s a confusing place to be, mostly because I know it’s not going to last. This is the last hurrah for my familiar pre-pregnancy shape. It’s going to change into something brand new, round and plump, then come out the other end in mid-ish-next year as something entirely different again, and utterly unpredictable.

This changing body brings me onto a bugbear that has been driving me in circles for weeks already: maternity clothes.

Mat clothes fall into two distinct and equally unappealing categories. Category A) you’re a mum now, you’re ugly and frumpy and disgusting and should just wear whatever we offer you, like these hideous prints, floofy dresses and rouched tops that bare no resemblance whatsoever to non-mat clothes because you are pregnant and different and how dare you ever believe that you can look or feel like yourself again. And Category B) social media influencer style, tiny frame with perfect round bump clothes that are for young, hot mums with cash to burn. Artfully oversized in a way that looks great on a model but ridiculous on the average person, or short, tight, boobs out, requiring an impossible amount of personal effort to pull off. Non-negotiable accessories include: full face of makeup, designer sunglasses, curled balayage hair.

Fucking hell. Obviously, I am not happy in either of these camps. I have always found it hard enough to dress myself as an adult without thinking about accommodating a growing human. I’ve never quite been able to nail a “personal style” that I’ve felt comfortable in, so instead opted for comfort over style many years ago. All of my clothes are black, because whenever I’ve experimented and bought other colours, I never wore them. I’m not someone who can elevate athleisure into office wear, either, I just can’t pull that shit off, I always look like I just got off the couch (mostly because this is exclusively what I wear at home). So trying to find clothes that are: affordable, comfortable, stretchy, versatile, age-appropriate (30 year olds simply do not dress the same as 20 or 40 year olds), that would actually make me feel like myself is nearing impossible. All of the advice I’ve gotten from previously-pregnant friends has been similar: yeah, it all fucking sucks, good luck.

While we’re on the topic, let’s do a loud, proud, full-on screaming shout out to friends. HOW IRREPLACEABLE ARE FRIENDS?! One lent me jeans that I can actually wear (along with other mat clothes), which has changed my fucking world and outlook on life. She also lent me her pregnancy pillow, contributing to the first sleep in which the pressure on my bladder did not cause me to get up in the night to pee! (Who knew that sleeping on your side instead of back helps these things lol).

Another friend sent me an incredibly generous and lovely care package, including bliss balls, essential oils, and homemade his-and-hers mugs for Lew & I that say “because when a baby is born, a Mama/Papa is too”. She also knitted a little cardigan for the baby!! Too fucking cute.

An old neighbour sent a Dropbox full of the files, e-books and audio tracks that her Mother’s Group found helpful in their pregnancies, including the entire Australian Birth Stories Birth Class, guides and books from sleep specialists, and all hypnobirthing tracks. Overwhelming, but so helpful.

And my best friend sent the baby some little cotton socks to celebrate 12 weeks, because every time we’ve ever seen a baby in our long friendship, she’s always been obsessed with whether or not they were wearing socks (note: all babies should wear socks at all times, no matter what).

I’ve given a lot of credit to Lewis over this pregnancy for how much he’s helped, picked up the load, facilitated my rest and listened attentively to every complaint, description of a new symptom and rant about what sort of parent’s we’ll be. But this is Lewis’ baby, too. It’s a decision we made and pursued together. I’m not surprised by his generosity, because it’s a shared journey for us. I’m doing the physical side, while he covers pretty much everything else. That’s teamwork and partnership. I have, however, been caught a little off-guard by how much this change in our lives means to so many other people, and how generous they’ve been about it. Their genuine congratulations and excitement; friends going out of their way to gift tokens of their love; all the answered text messages and calls, offers of help, advice, clothes, or anything else we need, it’s been truly fucking magical.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Growing a baby is not easy, but I am finding that it’s helped by finding my village a little earlier, and letting it embrace me.