Back in April, I had a very vivid dream where I suddenly began to expand—much like Violet Beauregarde when she blows up into a giant blueberry. In my dream, I remember being pretty freaked out as my body suddenly no longer fit into its former dimensions, and very frustrated when my none of my clothes fit.
This was several weeks before I knew I was pregnant, but looking back now, I must have subconsciously suspected something. That same week I also had a very vivid dream that I visited Emily Hale and we drank fancy cocktails in a swanky jazz club that was also (somehow?) a student-run cafe. She later assured me that, sadly, no such place exists. I guess in my subconscious the pandemic and my pregnancy manifested in sad but vivid dreams about expanding waistlines, cocktails, and faraway friends.
In retrospect, I have been sort of surprised how I have not expanded like Violet Beauregarde turning into a blueberry. I mean, I am definitely unable to wear my pre-pregnancy jeans anymore, but for the first 4 months I didn't have much problem fitting into them. I'm sure this is different for everyone, right? Also, when it's your body changing day-to-day the changes probably seem subtle when to other people you look obviously pregnant. I don't know. I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and suddenly be enormous. I'm not looking forward to it.
My most glaring pregnancy symptom has actually a lack of interest in food—until a couple weeks ago I found it almost impossible to finish a full portion of anything, and early on I had to force myself to eat. This is not—to put it mildly—normal behavior for me. I'm not too far off from my third trimester now, and I feel like I'm just now back to my pre-pregnancy appetite.
I confessed in my last post that I had more than a few cocktails early on, before I knew I was pregnant. I will confess here that I have not been very strict in following the food guidelines that everyone (society? marketing? blogs? I don't honestly know where these rules come from) insists are required. I still drink coffee daily, I still have an occasional glass of wine, I just this afternoon ate a turkey sandwich. I did give up eating canned tuna, but that was mostly because up until very recently it would have absolutely made me gag. The single piece of guidance my doctor gave me was to avoid eating or drinking anything unpasteurized, which I have done, since it seems prudent. And I figured if she had only one warning, I should take it seriously.
I'm not particularly proud of any of this—or of my pre-pregnancy diet, either. There is nothing virtuous about eating cold cuts. It's just...what I've done.
A friend of mine in grad school worked at the popular campus bar, and during his training he shared this fun factoid with me: it's illegal to refuse to serve a pregnant woman alcohol. I remember being so surprised! Not that a pregnant woman would want alcohol (seems logical to me) but rather that the government has not yet made it illegal for her to drink it. The overwhelming message I've received—since long before I ever became pregnant myself—is that pregnant women are to be treated as vessels for their unborn children. Telling pregnant women what to do with their bodies seems to be as normal as telling them what to do with their infants, and serving an infant alcohol would, of course, be illegal. I remain glad that the distinction between a pregnant woman and her child has not entirely collapsed.
