So let me be honest: I am currently twenty pounds heavier than my normal weight.
Now, were it not due to pregnancy, I would find this fact very concerning. But for some reason, because I am almost in the second trimester with my second child (which is so weird to even write that!) it doesn’t faze me. In fact, that I can eat or drink something sugary or skip a day (or week, or month) at the gym without remorse is fascinating.
But you know, I’ve been mentally conditioned to allow my body to change for this pregnancy. I can read about the glories of maternity and that embracing the oncoming curves is a good thing. I can put aside my skinny clothes for a year without worrying about being judged (or judging myself) because I know I have society’s support every time I leave my house sporting my ever-rounding baby bump.
But say I just randomly gained these twenty pounds and I wasn’t pregnant. The aforementioned support and confidence would be nowhere in sight. Instead, society’s voices say I got sloppy or lazy and fell out of any possible hot girl candidacy.
What. The. Heck.
Believe me, I am all for healthy living. When I’m not pregnant, I run almost daily and eat quite decently. I wear the smallest clothes I can comfortably and attractively wear and constantly monitor my efforts. But that’s what I expect of myself. That’s what I expect everyone else to expect of me. I expect myself to never be satisfied with what I look like or how my body is fitting into clothing–because to do otherwise might make me a loser to society. I might lose the rat race. I might, heaven forbid, be okay with myself…and be okay that I’m okay with myself.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s really what I want. Maybe that’s why I enjoy pregnancy: maybe I enjoy the freedom to be what I am.