Just hit the 37 week mark! Ding-ding! I'm currently watching an elbow (?) pushing what used to be my belly button out two inches. My child is clearly very creative, and has been attempting to use my belly button as her escape route for weeks. Her thinking outside the box was more amusing before 11pm last night when I noticed a silver stretch mark straight across my belly button. The abuse must stop, child!
Other than the arrival of my first stretch mark it's been an action packed few weeks. I celebrated my second wedding anniversary, turned 31, chopped 6 inches of hair off and put platinum blonde highlights in (more on this later), finished the belly button abuser's room and had two baby showers. Not to mention wrapped up the entire marketing calendar for fall 2014, trained the team to cover my leave and directed both the studio and lifestyle shoots for ridiculous new collection. Oiselle is radness and I have three months of baby girl bonding to look forward to, but as the only me… there is a lot to get ready.
I was doing pretty well emotionally until the hair change. I don't know what my deal is, I knew I wanted to chop my hair, I've always loved having short hair. When I met Owen my hair was so short I could barely tuck it behind my ears. And it's always been blonde-blonde. But between training, working and baby cooking I'd completely forgotten my hair. It was long, shaggy and pretty much my natural color. And I was sick to death of it. Until it was gone and blonde.
|great post yoga selfie|
I've been in tears off and on for three days over this change. It's absolutely ridiculous. And it's not how it looks that keeps setting me off, it's that I don't look like myself. Or the self that's been pregnant. The self I was getting used to.
And platinum blonde just isn't screaming maternal, but maybe that's okay. It's who I am. I guess I like to make things harder on myself. Like, oh, huge life change ahead, let's chop off all our hair and dye it blonde. I started to wonder if this haircut is to motherhood what the Mustang convertible is to the midlife crisis.
The more I try to analyze this weird reaction the more confused I am. I can say two things, the words 'mom cut' will send me over the edge and two, I do think the anxiety over the transition to being a mom might have flared up over a haircut. I haven't spent enough time in therapy to know the word for that. But it's not really the hair, right? It's that I've been a me for 31 years and now I'm about to be a me … that's a mom.
While we're talking about it though, just real quick, "mom cut" needs to be permanently banned from the English language. Jennifer Lawrence does not have a mom cut, neither does Miley Cyrus for that matter, but if either one of these two were pregnant or moms AND got their current cuts would it suddenly be a mom cut? No really, I'm asking, I took in a picture of Jennifer Lawrence. Weird how I don't look like her now…I really thought that would work.
Moving right along… physically I actually feel better than I expected. I did develop carpal tunnel, yes that happens. And my hands were so swollen at 34 weeks that I took my rings off and haven't looked back. It's tough now, ya know, without my wedding rings there's just nothing to keep men from approaching me. I'm like no, I'm sorry, taken. Yes, this hot bod is off the market. No you can't touch my stretch mark and yes I know this hair cut makes me look just like Jennifer Lawrence.
In the morning my feet hurt so much it's hard to walk for about half an hour. I don't know what that's about, we'll just go with swelling, loose joints and the extra 40 pounds I'm lugging around. My motto on the latter is, I'll deal with that later. I'm keeping up my walking and reasonable eating, trying to do the best I can for my little girl, and I'm just not worrying about the weight. Or cellulite. Or being passed by the geriatric crowd when I'm walking.
|I'll deal with you later… smiling New York Super Fudge Chunk|
I know I have business to take care of after she arrives. More than losing 40 pounds. I'm excited to get back into fighting shape start gunning for my goals again. Even walking I can feel the fire of wanting to run as fast as I can. I dream about running almost every night. And I'm excited to push myself without worrying about anyone but me. I am anxious about not having the time. This time off running has shown me how busy I am without it… or a baby. So to add the two into the mix is daunting. But day by day.
So yeah, 37 weeks here we go, and I will say all whining and hair cut sobbing aside, if I'm quiet I mostly feel overwhelmed with the goodness of life. Every little outfit people have picked out for her breaks my heart. It makes me proud and happy for her, that she's so loved. I feel incredibly lucky to be 31, and healthy. To have my Owen and a little house to rent and a tiny being beating my belly button up from the inside. It feels like too much good for one person to deserve.
|Painting little onesie|