I’ll never forget when “the sentence” was handed down to me by my OB-GYN: ‘There’s no way you’ll go past 39 weeks.’ After a rough eight months of pregnancy filled with constant nausea, tiredness and general mental anguish, putting an end date to my “body jail” was the light at the end of the tunnel that I needed.
Body jail, a term shared by a friend, seems to fit perfectly. After an easy and happy first pregnancy, I was surprised to experience the darker side of expecting this time. Now all those people who complained through their pregnancies didn’t seem so crazy and miserable after all.
Now nearing 41 weeks, I’ve started to refer to my doctor as “The Warden.” The two extra weeks since my much anticipated new due date have been excruciating. Family in town too early? Check. Missing more work than necessary? Check. Trying to sleep with an overgrown watermelon duct-taped to my midsection? Check. Constant phone calls, emails and Facebook messages asking “where’s that baby”? Check.
To me, the basic components of body jail include:
– Lockup: Don’t want to leave the house because you look/feel like death warmed over.
– Food/drinks: Nothing tastes good when you eat it and/or when it comes back to visit you in the form of heartburn (or worse).
– Apparel: I think there was approximately one week when maternity clothes fit the right way.
– Weight: If you’re not constantly concerned with the amount of weight you’ve gained, the good news is that everyone around you make sure that you are aware of where you fall on the scale.
The good news is I should be released from body jail by the time you read this. I can’t wait to meet my new baby girl and introduce her to our family. Next up: breastfeeding parole…