Right now, I hate my pregnant body. Seriously. If I could just stay trapped in my house for the next few weeks, just so that no one would see me, I would do it.
I'm currently smack dab in the middle of that "is she pregnant or just gaining weight?" stage. AND. I. HATE. IT. I hate the looks from people who aren't sure whether to say, "congratulations," or to offer up some weight loss tips (and I have evidence that people are thinking that. Want to know what it is, just ask). I hate that none of my clothes (maternity or otherwise) fit. Or look good for that matter. I hate that I feel the incessant need to wear a sign that says, "Pregnant. Not Plump." (Luckily, Dizzle LOVES to announce to anyone who will listen that, "Mommy has a baby in her belly." Oh, how I love you Dizzle!)
But, really. Why is it that an already emotionally unstable time in your life has to be compounded by body image issues? It's just not fair.
Generally, I am someone who relishes her pregnant body. I love what it does for my hair and nails. I love having a big pregnant belly to show off. I love that for once I don't have the chest of a 12 year-old boy. I love that in a few weeks it will be glaringly obvious to everyone that I am creating another human being.
But right now, I'm not feeling it.