Yesterday I spent hours making Hummus, cutting up cucumber and carrot sticks, and making energy balls. Why you may ask? Because I got in the headset where I felt like I had to. The reason I got into this headset was because while I was cleaning up the bathroom, in the corner of my eye I saw the scales... Or a I like to call them a pregnant woman's worst enemy. I pulled out the scales and stood on them before getting off totally shocked because I've definitely put on weight since the last time I got on them. I feel normal... And I exercise... I eat well... Yet I am still putting on the weight and everywhere I look I am told that is a bad thing.
Pregnancy is meant to be a magical experience, after all you are carrying a human inside you that you made with someone you love. So why in the world did I spend hours making diet foods that deep down I knew would not fill me up anyway. The reason that I did this was because the Doctor told me the amount of weight a lady should put on while pregnant. They told me basically that unless I am what their textbook says I should be that I will need to go to a dietitian. I even had one Doctor tell me that "the fat cow never has a good birth"... As someone who is already nervous about birth hearing that just made me more scared. Now that I have seen that number on the scales I can't help but think back to that moment. Am I now the fat cow that the Doctor referred to? Is my birth going to be traumatic? What the fuck am I doing?! For those brief hours after getting off the scales I moped around... Feeling my baby kick inside trying to tell me that everything is okay. I rang my partner to tell them about how I am now that "fatty" that everyone jokes about (seriously... Don't call a pregnant woman a fatty, even as a joke because it hurts.). I realised that I was not okay with this number on the scales and that I needed to do something about it! I planned to go for more walks, maybe try a few workouts, do more Yoga... Heck I'll do anything! I made "diet foods" so that there was always something handy for me to grab when I needed a snack, I filled up my water bottle and forced myself to scull it down (yes, I felt sick afterwards) and I sat there looking at my meals for the week trying to work out which ones would not make me "fat". My mindset about 99% of the time when I am looking at a delicious packet of banana flavoured lollies packed to the brim with sugar, preservatives and whatever other weird and wacky additives they choose to add... I think to myself "would I feed that to my baby". The answer of course is "NO". So I don't eat it. I avoid it. Yes, I may have a treat every now and again but why in the world would I not have a treat? I bloody deserve it. I spend all day growing a human for crying out loud which is harder than people think it is. Anyway, while looking over my meals for the week I realised that they consisted of vegetables, grains, fruits... Wholefoods, Superfoods, sugar free foods, dairy free foods, meat free... Wait a minute... If I were to "diet" Or as the Health Professionals would say "eat healthier" I would be left with no other option than to eat dirt! How could I get any healthier than I already am?! Would I have to survive on rice, blanched brocolli and poached chicken for the rest of my pregnancy so that I fit in with the textbook standards? Well... Dear Doctor, I am refusing to take part in something that I can't help. Why should I be spending my pregnancy, the most important time in a woman's life worrying about becoming a "fat cow". Why should I be made to feel like I am going to have a traumatic birth, that I don't deserve a treat, that I don't deserve juicy, juicy carbs? Why should I be made to feel like I need to diet and go to crazy lengths to exercise just to meet your stupid book that says "You should only put on this much weight"? I am asking you to look away from your book... Realise that all women are different, with all different and magnificent bodies, all of which will react differently when there is a human growing inside them. Don't tell that woman that she is going to be the "fat cow" and that her birth with be traumatic... Tell her she is a fucking queen (yes I am a Constance Hall fan). That she is doing perfectly and that she is beautiful... Make sure you tell her she is beautiful for crying out loud. It's already hard enough when your favourite dresses don't fit you anymore and you feel like you look like a Duff Beer Blimp floating across the sky. I destroyed my scales yesterday. Well... As much as someone trying to be zero waste can... So I just added them to the pile to take to the Op Shop... My main point here is that they are gone. I don't need to stand on them when I know I am doing all the right things for both myself and the beautiful, little, thriving baby inside me. I think you should destroy your scales too. You're gorgeous and wonderful... And don't need some stupid numbers to define your beauty or place in society. Everyone's bodies are different and instead of looking at that as a bad thing we need to embrace that! Fuck what everyone else thinks. I'll be that jiggly lady, working her hardest to feel good in her own skin once she pushes a watermelon out of a five cent sized hole and carries 9 month worth of stretch marks around... So become part of that journey too. So we can show the beauty industry who is boss... And so we can tell the diet companies to shove their plans up their money lined assholes. You're welcome. Now go and have a good day and kiss your stretch marks. xxx
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A Mum on a mission to raise an Earth Warrior.
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