I broke up with my pants this week. It wasn't just because of the holes. My jeans still fit, and they're relatively comfortable...until I sit down, which I do often, and then yeeouch. Looks like it'll be all high-waisted leggings and unitards, all the time for me. Until I get sick of feeling like I'm always either about to work out or go to bed, that is. (Unitards were my pajamas-of-choice last year. I just started wearing them out of the house this winter, first to yoga class, and then as an extra layer. Now, they're indispensable.) I want to put off wearing actual maternity clothes for as long as possible.
I'm still battling nausea, especially after 4:00 PM. I call it "evening sickness." I power through dinner, and then most nights I just lie on the couch, bloated and queasy until bedtime. But I'm starting to feel the tiniest bit more energetic. My back pain flare-up is calming down, and I even managed to exercise this weekend. Plodding along on the elliptical with an incline of zero hardly counts as "working out," but it's better than nothing.
After almost two weeks with no spotting, I woke up in the wee hours of Saturday morning to some reddish-brown blood. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I put on a mini cloth pad, drank some water, got back in bed, and started reciting some of my affirmations.
In daylight hours, affirmations seem silly. Mantra meditation makes me feel like a trapped animal, and inspirational quotes sound kind of smarmy when I read them. But at night, my mind is not a place I want to hang out in by myself. It's the worst part of town. So I wrote out some positive pregnancy affirmations, for when the psychic streetlights start flickering ominously and I'm pretty sure that guy walking towards me has a knife. Corny things like:
My body is strong and healthy.
My baby is safe and growing beautifully.
I have everything I need.
And the list goes on. It's so ridiculous. I'm completely embarrassed to be lying in bed (or driving, or waiting for a table at a restaurant, or wondering what that painful twinge was all about) and repeating shit like My cervix is doing exactly what it's supposed to do inside my head—but it helps. I stop imagining the worst, and start laughing at myself for being a New Age weirdo.