A couple of weeks ago I went in for a routine prenatal checkup. I was seen by another OBGYN in the practice (not my regular doctor) which was fine. My vagina is totally open to meeting new people. The visit began as all prenatal visits do, with a weigh-in. When I step on the scale I make it a point to not look at my weight. Because of my eating disorder history (and thankfully over 11 years in recovery!) I find there is nothing good that can come from me knowing how much weight I’m gaining while creating another human. Of course, my health is my top priority during pregnancy but I trust my team to tell me if anything is off pertaining to my weight or my baby’s health. And so far, no news is good news. But unfortunately that day there was some news…
As we were finishing up the appointment and everything looked kosher, the doctor casually mentioned that ‘You’ve gained a lot of weight during pregnancy. You’re healthy but keep in mind it’s going to be that much harder post-pregnancy when you wanna lose weight.’ She then decided to add a personal tidbit ‘take it from someone with a two-year-old who still hasn’t lost the baby weight’ she motioned to her body like it was a class project she had failed. She left the room and I sat frozen, staring at my fiancé in disbelief. I was so upset. I left the office in a blur, forgetting my prenatal vaccinations. In that moment, I would’ve preferred elephantiasis over having to listen to one more second of her ‘medical’ advice.
After my initial shock, anger quickly settled in. Just ask the dude I screamed at who cut me off in the parking lot right after my appointment. But I wasn’t mad at the doctor (who I pray goes to therapy so as not to project her shit onto future patients) but sadly I was mad at myself. I had been so busy working, nesting, playing, getting engaged, catching waves in the ocean, making a killer birth mix, having mind-blowing sex, eating all the cheese, telling my 104-year-old grandma I was naming my kid after her, meditating with my cat, forgiving myself, going to therapy, and crying tears of overwhelm and ecstasy, that I forgot to worry about my weight! I had dropped the ball on Operation Skinny! No matter how long I’m in recovery, emergency sirens can get get triggered at any moment, howling through the hallways of my mind shouting ‘Emergency! You’re fat!’ How could I have fucked up so deeply?
I feel grateful that this way of thinking is just that. No action is required. Only the awareness and dare I say acceptance that these thoughts will probably never fully disappear. If anything, they are a sobering reminder of how far I’ve come. These ‘fat thoughts’ float past me like a fart I refuse to claim as mine (though chances are the fart is mine because pregnancy it turns out is one long fart) I’d like to believe I’m better than this. That my doctor’s comments could just roll off my back but sadly they’re sticky, like my butt to the subway seat during summertime. Her comments beckoned me like a ‘you up?’ text from a toxic ex. Not pleasurable but familiar, the ultimate distraction from the vulnerability of being alive. Obsession about my body / weight is a full-time job but I am no longer seeking employment.
I think anger (and female rage) in general is healthy. It’s a canary in the coal mine of my mind to let me know that something ain’t right. But I no longer need to internalize what’s fucked up in our world and assume it’s my fault (or my fat!) that is the problem. Sometimes it really is the world (or my Gynecologist) that needs to step up and DO BETTER.
It makes me so sad that instead of enjoying pregnancy, recovering from birth, bonding with the human they just created (with their body), women also have the pressure of getting their ‘body back.’ Back to what? From what I hear, when it comes to Motherhood there is no going back. You are transformed. So why is carrying a few extra pounds considered a mortal sin? Why is it even considered at all?
To say that I’m bummed at the influx of Ozempic (and the revival of low-rise jeans) is an understatement. I thought we were past all this, people! I didn’t agree for my Daughter to grow up in the same (or worse thanks to social media) thin-obsessed culture that I did.
Why is it that no matter how far society has come in terms of body love and self-acceptance, the idea still holds firm: the biggest goal a woman can achieve is to be smaller.
I’m prepping myself for carrying a few extra pounds after birth. Would that be the worst thing in the world? (My Eating Disorder screams YES!!) But the real me knows better. I’m reminded of the constant fork in the road: I can either have a full life (baby, husband, art, soul) OR I can be a miserable soldier fighting in a war she never signed up for on ‘Operation Skinny.’ It’s a no brainer.
I’m gonna keep showing up for my body like she’s showing up for me. I bask in the grace of my own body and what she’s done for me these past 9 months and past 39 years. She’s been my longest relationship and most loyal partner (even through the tongue ring years!) We’ve been through hell but it’s brought us to heaven.
At my next appointment I was back with my regular OBGYN. I decided to advocate for myself and tell her what the other doctor said to me. She quickly empathized and assured me ‘I’ll put in your chart that you don’t want to discuss your weight unless it’s about your health’ I loved this plan but couldn’t help but laugh. How is this not standard of care? Rest assured I will keep kvetching until it is!
This incident with my doctor speaks to the larger issue that is the plethora of unsolicited advice pregnant women receive. Never in my life have I been told so much, by so many, I so didn’t wanna hear. I know everyone means well and is just trying to relate and support an experience that can feel so lonely but damn people! As the kids say: ‘SAY LESS’
As a trusted friend told me ‘Every pregnancy is a mountain, you just have to climb yours.’ And yet I too find myself trying to give advice that was not asked for. Like the other day when one of my best friends (newly pregnant!) told me she was getting a doula and I quickly preached that I believe doula’s are the life coaches of the birth world and it would be better for her to instead invest in a good shrink. As if I know shit about what’s best for her and her mountain?! I truly regret every time I’ve judged another pregnant woman/mother for her decisions and yet I know I won’t be able to fully quit the vicious cycle of feeling judged / judging others and yet I can try…
As my pregnancy comes to an end I’m finding a deep pull to go inward. To enjoy the pleasure of my own company, to milk this time when it’s just me and her. To take refuge within. I’ve spent so much of my life scared to stand still, to sit in silence with myself. I think that’s been one of the most beautiful gifts of pregnancy. The reminder that the outside world can be a diarrhea tornado. But to be able to go inward, to even have an inward to go to, is a miracle.
In the days leading up to birth, a quiet calm has washed over me. (I’m actually a little stressed out that I’m not more stressed!) But I’m basking in an inner peace that is hard won. Besides, I don’t have time to stress about silly things like my weight. I have more important things to worry about like whether or not my child will be a Libra or Scorpio. I’m (mostly) free of obsessive thinking about “getting it all done” or having “the ideal birth” or the “perfect postpartum body.’ What a beautiful trip to be fully present with the full weight of life.
