If we were on a coffee date, I'd for sure be drinking a venti of anything. Black. Latte. Espresso. Some people judge the pregnant woman's coffee consumption, but I have two really cool kids that "appear" to be unaffected by my caffeine intake. #thisisnotamedicalopinion
If we were on a coffee date, we'd probably exchange week updates and a good solid baby bump examination.
If we were on a coffee date, I'd be coming up on 17 weeks pregnant and celebrating the sickness be gone. Unless I'm awake for too many hours in a row and then it returns in full force. It's like nature's way of telling me to "SHUT IT DOWN."
If we were on a coffee date, I'd tell you I've researched the HECK out of third pregnancies and the information (or lack there of) is straight bumming me out. No one talks about #3. Not like the kid, the pregnancy. I mean, I guess by this point, people assume you have it down. You've done this three times, if you don't know what's what, you're not very good at paying attention to your body.
But I call BS.
If we were on a coffee date, and all my words weren't recorded for my grandkids to read, I'd say the real thing.
If we were on a coffee date, I'd probably get into the details of why this one's so different. (Hi Shaina 👋) And if we were really good friends, you'd know you could ask any question in the book and I'd answer it honestly. Like the baby bump for example. It’s not cute by #3, it’s more like a re-inflated flabby balloon. #alsoyouwouldntbeaman #idontreallygotocoffeewithmen #okwelloneman
If we were on a coffee date, I'd tell you about my OB telling me to slow down my weight gain because, "You had a big baby last time." Yes, I remember. I was there. And I did everything text book for a VBAC and my girl was still wonder woman. (10 lb 6 oz sized wonder woman)
If we were on a coffee date, there would be no stopping me from telling you that my boobs don't fit my brand new bras, my jeans are too tight but maternity pants are too big, I cannot get my metabolism up to save my life, everything feels saggier faster, and my skin isn't glowing. It's sweating. They say glow to make us feel better but it's just excessive sweat we're constantly dabbing away.
If we were on a coffee date, I'd make light of the obvious things, but you'd be hard pressed to get out of me that this pregnancy has unearthed the insecure Jules. I don't like gaining weight. Even for the miracle of life. It seems warped, but it's the truth. And I wish so bad I could change my natural perspective.
If we were on a coffee date, I'd dig even deeper, because that's what I'd want you to do. I'd tell you I don't think it's about self-worth or acceptance. But more a silly lie of wasted time and defeat. Maybe it's laziness. Or exhaustion. I don't want to find a new rhythm to this pregnancy. I don't want to find a new routine that is crafted around this baby.
I want to be able to copy and paste the last one.
Because in that one, I was skinny and fit. I only gained 35 lbs and lost it all pretty quickly. Because in that one, my skin didn't break out and my hair was luscious and bouncy. I found a manageable routine of exercise and food, but never felt deprived or depleted.
If we were on a coffee date, I'd realize I just talked myself into an epiphany. I'm craving the rut, in 12 months, I'll beg to get out of. Damn. #sorrygrandkids
If we were on a coffee date, I'd tell you you're a good friend for letting me get there. And refill your coffee.