You know there’s a point in every pregnancy where you officially feel pregnant? And yes, by pregnant, I really mean fat.
It’s what I like to call the point of no return because it all just goes downhill from there.
The first 3 months or so, you can get by without looking the least bit pregnant. You get to parade around in regular non-maternity clothes and enjoy still having a waistline. And while the morning sickness is annoying, it does help to keep the weight gain at bay.
But that all changes right around the second trimester. Your body decides that because it’s carrying another human being, it needs to start accumulating fats like there’s no tomorrow. You have to have that box of durians at 2 o’clock in the morning. That bag of chips is just sitting there calling out to be eaten and you lose all willpower against the evil forces of Nasi Lemak.
I have a former colleague who had the misfortune of only knowing me in my heavily-pregnant state. We started working together when I was 6 months pregnant and because I left my job shortly after giving birth to Tru, the only version of me he knows is the one lumbering around with the 170-pound ass. I met him again last year at the Singapore Blog Awards and when I went over to say hi, he stared at me blankly for a whole 5 seconds before going “OMG Daphne, it’s you! I couldn’t recognize you, you look so…different, uh…good!”
It was a nice compliment and the honesty was refreshing but I realized that to him, I was that fat chick from the office. You know this whole pregnancy weight gain thing? It really sucks.
I just spent the last 2.5 years trying to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight through a combination of several painful methods including breastfeeding, strenuous physical exertion and far too much starvation. And now that I’m finally able to fit into my size 28 jeans, I’m ballooning out of control.
I was out shopping with the husband over the weekend and I’m found myself shopping in the maternity section because my beloved size 28’s is giving me a massive hernia. I was determined to wear it for as long as I could this pregnancy and I barely made it to 13 weeks.
It’s so depressing.
The husband says I’m still beautiful and tried to take my photo to prove it but I’m all “if you take my photo, I will cut you.”
So excuse me while I spend the rest of the day wearing ginormous sweats and eating ice-cream.