I recently found myself
explaining to one of our best friends why it’s important for him to fall off
the wagon, so to speak, and gain a bunch
of weight in support of his very pregnant wife (incidentally one of my other
best friends). While he was “cheating” on his fitness & nutrition regime by
having a beer, I mistakenly gave him props and assumed he typically wasn’t
drinking because his wife couldn’t. When he explained his commitment to
Crossfit and accompanying dietary restrictions, I took heed to how good he
looks. Like his gorgeous wife, he’s someone who is typically in shape so I wasn’t
taken aback by him looking fit. I decided to take the opportunity to tenderly scold
him for not being aware of the “rules”. Maybe it’s just me, but when I was pregnant
I made sure Mike clearly understood all of his responsibilities as my
supportive partner. These included obvious things like getting me Big Macs in
the middle of the night (should the mood strike), telling me I looked
beautiful, not questioning my somewhat frequent (hormone-induced) irrationality,
and making sure to not make me feel bad by parading around with a 6-pack. I’m
talking about the abdominal variety, as well as Heineken (which
happened to be my incredibly unfair craving when pregnant with Sam. Thanks for
that, Universe). Now before you think less of me by assuming that I’m a bossy,
control-freak; it’s important to know that I’m not at all suffocating or
oppressive. Though admittedly I am biased in saying this, I’m sure that those who
know us well would support me by agreeing that Mike has it pretty good. Regardless of whether it’s because I’m a Libra or maybe it’s just do to the fact
that I’m a woman; I like things to be balanced and equal. I also don’t like
being told what not to do – which, in terms of the negative aspects, is essentially pregnancy in a nut-shell. So, along with the aforementioned understanding he
and I shared, I would not have been in support of him losing the weight I
happened to be gaining. It’s important to know that I packed on well over 60
pounds for each pregnancy, and while I did embrace the miracle of life taking
place; I also resented the moon-face staring back at me in the mirror. Not so
much with Sam as with Isla, but pounds are pounds, and there were days throughout
each pregnancy that I felt like an extra pale, beached manatee. A buff husband
scampering around the house may have pushed me over the edge.
I’m reminded of a funny
story (although not so funny at the time) which took place at one of my midwife
appointments. Basically Mike thought it would be a good idea to hop on the
scale after my ‘weigh-in’ (the dreaded commencement of each appointment) and declare,
surprised, that he’s lost weight. I’m not sure if it was the inevitable
aftermath of me sobbing in the elevator that made him clue in, or if it was my
cartoon Bambi eyes welling up while trying to book my next appointment, but he
knew without being told where he went wrong.
I know Mike’s been worried about me blogging this one because it makes
him look incredibly insensitive so, in his defence, he really had no idea how
stupid this was until after the fact. He apologized profusely and admits wholeheartedly
that he was just wasn’t thinking. Now looking back I can’t help but wonder if
his immediate realization had something to do with the fact that he was aware
of the “you’re not allowed to look amazing while you’re wife is pregnant” rule.
I wasn’t completely devastated and the tears were almost entirely a result of
those awesome pregnancy hormones I keep mentioning. So it didn’t take long for
this to become a funny story which, to Mike’s dismay, would be shared with
friends for years to come . The real doozies take a bit longer to evolve into
comedic anecdotes and are usually associated with an argument of sorts. Those
ones need to cool down for a while before they’re funny (I’m sure
anyone in a relationship knows exactly what I’m talking about).
Anyway, back to my friend and his horribly
timed pursuit of fitness. His wife is just about the most supportive and loving
creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, so it’s not surprising that she
hasn’t gone up one side of him and down the other on this issue. That’s where I
come in. I took the liberty and explained, with the help of my weigh-in story,
why it’s important to be supportive in all ways including getting fat. At least
this ensures that the task of getting back into shape is less daunting because you
know your partner will be right there beside you; red-faced and dry-heaving at
the gym. All things considered, I don’t think this is too much to ask for.
Now before I make it sound
like I hated pregnancy, I have to be clear and illustrate that I actually loved
having been pregnant. At the risk of sounding like I work for Hallmark, I will
treasure the memoires for the rest of my life. Women who are fortunate enough
to know what I’m talking about would probably agree, and also wouldn’t trade it
for anything. The sense of triumph after giving birth is second to none – especially
having done it naturally. Yeah, I’m one of those A-holes who inadvertently make
you feel bad about yourself if you’ve had an epidural. Trust me, had it not
been for the back pain which resulted from the epidural I had with Isla, I
would have had it again. Maybe I would have even asked for seconds, just to be
safe. If I recall, during my labour with Isla, the armour-clad
anaesthesiologist rode into my delivery room on a white steed. Although, now
thinking back, that may have been a pain-induced hallucination. Who knows; who
cares? Point is, I got the drugs and I loved them. It was the seven months of
spinal pain that deterred me on round two. Having experienced both the natural
and “unnatural” I can honestly say it wasn’t so bad dealing with the pain; of
course it’s easy to say that now that I'm jacked full of amnesic hormones which apparently are responsible for me wanting to do it all over again.
At least I will always have the fact that I
delivered a nearly ten pound baby. Mike loves when I bring it up; which is
often. And honestly, even if I had been under general for the birth of my kids,
and had never experienced a contraction; I would still find ways to bring up the
fact that I carried each of them around for 10 months. Basically no matter how
you slice it; mothers are entitled to a lifetime of kudos.
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