Early on in my pregnancy, I got offended when people tried to do things for me ‘because you’re pregnant now.’ You know the well-meaning yet overprotective gestures I’m talking about – the ones that make you feel like your loved ones are trying to wrap you in tissue paper and sit you in a cardboard box at the back of a closet for nine months.
Whether it was my husband insisting on doing all the vacuuming or my mom offering to pour me a glass of lemonade because “you shouldn’t lift that full pitcher,” I refused the coddling.
I didn’t want to turn into some caricature of a needy Preg-zilla, complaining about my swollen ankles while I struggled to get up off the couch like a beached whale.
In the beginning, I still felt mostly like myself, and I didn’t want to be treated like an invalid. I wanted to be like the pregnant women I saw in social media posts and Target ads, going for trail runs and swinging kettlebells and wearing curve-hugging maternity dresses with fashion sneakers.
After all, pregnancy is not a medical condition that should be treated with a period of confinement, like we’re all fainting Victorian ladies who need to be off our feet because we’re “on the nest.” It’s a normal physical state in which women are still capable, strong, and independent.
That said, I’m about 38 weeks pregnant now, and I have to admit, I wouldn’t say no to a little confinement.
Sure, I still want to show the world that I’m a strong, capable, independent pregnant lady, but can I do that from a reclining position on a heating pad? Because I just threw my back out reaching for a package of Reese’s Cups at the back of a shelf at the grocery store.
Of course, I don’t want to be taken out of commission entirely.
I’d rather not be put on bed rest, and I don’t need assistance loading a 24-pack of toilet paper into my car at Costco. I don’t want to be treated like I’m completely incapacitated.
I’m just saying maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be treated like I’m a little incapacitated. Like if somebody wants to carry my bag at the airport or vacuum the house while I sit down and eat an orange, who am I to say no to that?
Here’s a dirty little secret my magical second-trimester self didn’t want to hear: pregnancy has sidelined me a bit. It’s just a fact.
I get winded walking to the mailbox now. I have to use the big stalls in public bathrooms because sometimes I get stuck in the small ones if the door swings inward. I have to sit down to put on pants and socks, and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to contort myself to clip my toenails anymore.
I can’t get through an entire trip to the grocery store without stopping to pee, I can’t take a walk without wearing a support belt, and I can’t drive more than a half hour without pulling over to stretch. There are days when my biggest accomplishment is bending down to unload the bottom rack of the dishwasher.
Showing the world that pregnant women are strong and capable is all fine and dandy, but I just don’t know if I’m the right champion for that cause anymore since I now have to ask my husband to tie my shoes for me every morning.
But what’s wrong with accepting a little help?
I may not be immobilized, but I am carrying around a lumpy, 6-pound sack of potatoes that kicks my vital organs all day and night and compresses my lungs to the point that I’m liable to pass out in my sleep. I don’t need to feel like I’m tearing down “Votes for Women” signs just because I let my husband carry the grocery bags to the car.
When I became pregnant, I think I felt an obligation to be independent and active, as if I had to prove to the world that pregnancy wouldn’t compromise me.
So when my body told me to slow down and relax, I fought back, as if it would be embarrassing not to keep up with those do-it-all pregnant ladies on social media. But the truth is, I’ve grown a tiny person out of a seedling for God’s sake – am I really proving anything else by jogging once a week?
Honestly, a little coddling right now wouldn’t go amiss.
So, as a matter of fact, I will take that nap. And, actually, I do need to sit down and have a snack after putting in a load of laundry, and I probably shouldn’t strain myself carrying those boxes up from the basement. It’s really not a good idea for me to navigate the icy driveway, so if someone wants to bring a car around, I won’t say no.
And you know what? You can bring me a glass of iced tea so I don’t have to hoist myself out of this chair again and pick up that heavy pitcher.
That would be really nice.
Our next reco: Working While Pregnant in the Third Trimester
