I’d be lying if I said I’ve always been confident with how I look – I imagine it’s only a very rare small percentage of women who are, but this last week has been a tough one for me confidence wise. Whether it’s hormones playing their part or not, I have woken up every day feeling frumpy, heavy, gross and miserable.
Each morning, I drag my ever expanding body out of bed (usually with an ‘oof’), groggily shower, dry and sit on the foot of the bed wrapped in a towel in despair. Not knowing what to wear. Not knowing what to do with my newly-disobedient hair. Not having the energy or inclination to put make up on because what good will it do, anyway? All the while thinking God, if this is what I feel like now, how on earth am I going to feel in 15 weeks’ time? And that definitely doesn’t help. I feel like I’m on a slippery declining slope that is only going to get worse over the next 3.5 months.
I try to tell myself: You’re not fat! You’re pregnant. But then I catch a glimpse of my chubby cheeks and filled-out jawline, my legs that I swear are more dimpled, flabby and trunk-like and a rounder, flumpy chest and curse myself for eating that second Milkybar yoghurt for breakfast yesterday. Because it’s not my bump that makes me feel fat – I love my bump! I’m so proud of my bump and happily will let that get bigger and grow and feel no shame in parading my belly around. It’s all the other parts of me getting flabbier that I wasn’t prepared for.
LPD will catch me looking all forlorn and downcast and will ask what’s wrong. When I tell him, he shakes his head in disagreement and says Don’t be silly, sweet. You look beautiful. My beautiful pregnant wife. As if that will suddenly fix everything. If only.
Over the weekend, I decided that I wanted to feel better about myself, so despite having no plans and no where to go, I spent some time curling my hair nicely and properly applying make up. I did feel a little bit ‘done up’ for just vacuuming the lounge and chilling out with The West Wing box set (Season 5 in case you’re wondering) but it was worth it just for the sense of feeling happy and unapologetic about my appearance.
On Sunday, we’d made plans to meet some of LPD’s family at a pub and I intended to make ‘an effort’ to look nice there too. I ended up having a bit of a lazy morning and hadn’t given myself time like I had on Saturday so it was a bit of a rush job but not to worry, I popped some heel wedges on and felt at least a little bit glamorous when we turned up. We had some gorgeous cuddles with our niece and a lovely chat and I went home feeling pretty good about the whole thing. That was until my sister-in-law sent me a photo she took… and I was straight back on the I look terrible bandwagon. I think it hit me even harder because I’d at least tried to make an effort, and I still didn’t like what I saw.
Please keep your fingers crossed that this is just a phase that passes. And if you’ve got any tips or tricks up your sleeve to help boost beauty confidence, please let me know! I’ll try anything.