Someone stole my feet. I first realized the items were missing perhaps halfway through my second trimester. I was taking a shower and looked down at my belly, but something was different (other than the fact that the once flat stomach was now the size of a soccer ball). My feet! They were gone! And that’s when I realized that this little squirmy wormy baby girl inside of me was slowly taking over my body. She’s stealing stuff, and I mean important stuff that I’ve relied on for my entire life. And this is just the beginning.
I don’t feel like a “large” pregnant woman, but I do have moments of feeling fat. It’s uncomfortable at times - as she grows, everything inside of me pushes up against my ribs, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. I waddle now. I climb the 5 steps to our door and I’m winded. I literally "roll" out of bed. I don’t think Jamie is used to my new size because he still seems to think I can squeeze past him in a doorway. I fear I won’t be able to reach the washing machine soon because the space between it and the wall is only about two feet. I guess I’ll have to eventually pick my belly up and slide myself across the top of the dryer, my feet dangling a few inches above the ground as I shift over toward the washing machine.
Either that, or I stop doing laundry… Hmm…
But I still think it’s fair to answer honestly when people ask me how I feel. Most days I feel fine. Sleep is a bit tricky since rolling over in bed has become more of a process. But some days I just feel fat. I do. And I wonder to myself whether Jamie still thinks I’m attractive because my shape has changed so much, because I can’t wear my super cute green dress without looking like a snake that’s just swallowed a meal. Because I can’t kiss him without maneuvering slightly to the side to get my belly out of the way. This might be too much information, but sex is something of a new adventure, too. It can be complicated - sometimes really complicated. And it can be frustrating, for both of us.
But we’ve learned to communicate about these new challenges. And don’t get me wrong - I don’t really think he doesn’t find me attractive, but honestly the thoughts still happen. The truth of my identity in Christ and my trust in Jamie wins out, but the thoughts still happen. And no matter how many times someone tells me I don’t look fat, I still feel that way sometimes. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with feeling that way and admitting to it. I know folks just want to encourage me, but I don’t really feel discouraged. Just fat. And just sometimes. Not most times, but sometimes.
Anyway, knowing my feet are still below me is a comfort, for sure (I did check), but since the discovery I’ve felt a striking sense that this child has already staked her claim in my life. In many areas, too - not just weight or body shape. I’m starting to grasp the fact that I have given over my entire life (willingly and purposefully) to better hers. And if she needs to take away my line of sight to my feet, well - that’s just one small sacrifice I’m willing to pay to make sure she gets what she needs to grow strong and healthy and know the Lord. Jesus gave us so much more than that when He sacrificed His life for our futures. Not only did He give us His feet, but he gave his hands, his side, his head… He gave his very blood, his very breath, to make sure we had the chance to see the Father.
And I know, while sometimes it’s a struggle, I am willing to give the same for my daughter. Feeling fat on occasion, or winded, or tired, or unattractive truly pales in comparison to knowing that God is making her into who she needs to be for this life.
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