As you read this, my deepest hope is that I’ve already welcomed our little one into the world. This means I’ve either posted my second-trimester reflections far too early or significantly delayed sharing this much-anticipated third-trimester update. Regardless of the timing, for the sake of every physician’s scale and my husband Jared’s mental well-being, this baby needs to arrive soon!
And if you’re wondering why Jared might also look like he’s on the verge of giving birth, it’s because I convinced him to experience pregnancy firsthand. For a full 24 hours, he wore a weighted, 30-pound “sympathy belly,” complete with breasts. Let me tell you, the worst part for him wasn’t the daytime discomfort, but enduring a full night’s sleep with that extra weight. It certainly gave him a new perspective on the everyday challenges of carrying a baby.
Instead of a lengthy monologue detailing my myriad third-trimester emotions – and believe me, there are plenty, many of which defy logic – I’ve decided to present this update as a more digestible listicle. Fair warning to dads, brothers, and anyone slightly squeamish: this content might get a little personal. Given the blog’s aesthetic and my own father’s frequent bewilderment about my online activities, I don’t anticipate many of you falling into those categories, but consider yourselves duly notified. Now, let’s dive into the real talk of these final weeks.
The Unforgettable Realities of the Third Trimester
1. The Constant Companionship of Braxton Hicks
Most days, I feel as tight as a boa constrictor after a substantial meal. Seriously, if you’ve ever seen footage of a python after it’s had a good eat, that’s pretty much my vibe. My body, it seems, has developed an intense affection for Braxton Hicks contractions, regardless of how much rest I manage to get or how much water I religiously consume.
These “practice contractions” began appearing at a rather early 27 weeks and have since become a relentless, daily feature of my life. Frankly, it feels like my body is setting me up for denial when actual labor eventually begins. I’m constantly questioning if it’s the real deal or just another round of my uterus doing calisthenics. The sheer frequency and intensity have made it difficult to discern the difference, adding an extra layer of anticipation and mild frustration to these final weeks.
2. The Unsexy Reality of “Lightning Crotch”
“Lightning crotch” has become my newest and most frequently used unsexy phrase. There’s truly nothing quite like standing in a crowded mall checkout line, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, all while experiencing sudden, sharp, ice-pick-like sensations shooting up your vagina. The mental gymnastics required to smile politely at the cashier as you fumble for your credit card, pretending everything below the waist isn’t in an uproar, is an Olympic-level feat.
This particular joy of late pregnancy arrives without warning, often when I’m least expecting it and most definitely when I’m in public. It’s an abrupt, startling reminder of the immense pressure and changes happening internally, making simple tasks like grocery shopping or a quick errand feel like a daring adventure. It’s a vivid illustration of how pregnancy transforms even the most mundane moments into unexpectedly challenging experiences.
3. Navigating Unsolicited Comments About My Size
I’ve had to develop an incredible amount of self-restraint to avoid lashing out at people who, whether seriously or jokingly, inquire if I’m expecting twins or more. Seriously, bro, I don’t comment on what I think your physique looks like, so perhaps you could extend the same courtesy and keep your observations to yourself. These comments, though often well-intentioned, can be incredibly irritating and contribute to an already heightened sense of self-consciousness about my rapidly changing body.
Pregnancy already brings enough body image struggles without external commentary. It’s a journey of embracing new curves and unprecedented sizes, and the constant reminders that I look “enormous” or “ready to pop” (as if I hadn’t noticed!) only serve to chip away at my patience. My body is doing an incredible job growing a human, and that alone deserves respect, not casual speculation or comparisons.
4. The Unfiltered Truth of Maternity Photos
I made the rather regrettable mistake of booking our maternity photoshoot way too late in the game – specifically, well past eight months pregnant. The result? A prominent double chin gracing virtually every single photograph. In hindsight, perhaps it’s a blessing. Maybe it’s better that these photos genuinely reflect the reality of my pregnancy, rather than presenting an overly idealized version where I appear perfectly composed and serene. The truth is, by that point, “serene” was not exactly my defining characteristic.
Looking back, I find a certain humor in the unfiltered authenticity. These images capture the true essence of those final, weighty weeks – the fullness, the exhaustion, and the undeniable presence of a human being growing within. It’s a more honest reflection, reminding me that pregnancy is beautiful in all its raw, unpolished glory, far removed from the perfectly curated images often seen on social media.
5. Unforeseen Physical Transformations: The Bologna Nipples
Somewhere along this journey, sometime after my ankles vanished beneath a layer of swelling and before I fully embodied the boa constrictor analogy, I developed what I can only describe as “bologna nipples.” Yes, you read that correctly. Actual, life-sized slices of bologna appeared right on my chest. I had absolutely no idea it was physically possible for my nipples to grow to such a size and undergo such a drastic color change overnight. They’ve essentially become Transformers, evolving into a new, formidable state.
This particular transformation was perhaps one of the most surprising and, admittedly, somewhat alarming physical changes. It’s yet another testament to the incredible, and sometimes bizarre, ways the body adapts and prepares for motherhood. It serves as a constant, visual reminder of the profound biological processes underway, even if the aesthetic result is unexpectedly startling.
6. The Daily Struggle of Bathroom Logistics
My husband recently asked if “everything was alright in the bathroom,” after hearing some rather dramatic huffing and puffing. My immediate, exasperated reply was, “You try and wipe and pull your panties back up like this!” This exchange perfectly encapsulates the daily, often hilarious, struggles of maneuvering a very pregnant body. Simple tasks that were once second nature have now become elaborate, multi-step operations requiring significant effort and flexibility, neither of which are abundant resources at this stage.
The sheer logistics of bending, twisting, and reaching around a massive baby bump turn everyday routines into minor physical challenges. It’s a constant test of balance and ingenuity, often leading to awkward contortions and a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. This particular struggle is a universal pregnancy experience, reminding me that even the most private moments are now shared with a very present, albeit unseen, passenger.
7. Embracing Weight Gain and Letting Go of Expectations
At 38 weeks and 5 days, I’ve officially gained 40 pounds. While I’m not entirely sure when my ankles disappeared from view, I had to stop wearing my wedding ring a few days ago, so feel free to perform your own “weird biological math” on that timeline. As someone who stands at a hot 5 feet 3 inches and started at an average weight, I am clearly beyond the “approved” weight gain range, and frankly, I’ve officially stopped caring. Instagram, after all, could use more curves on its stories anyway.
This acceptance has been a liberating journey. Early on, there’s often a silent pressure to stay within certain guidelines, but by the third trimester, the focus shifts entirely to the health and well-being of the baby. My body is doing exactly what it needs to do, and every pound is a testament to the incredible work it’s performing. Letting go of those external expectations has allowed me to fully embrace this temporary, transformative phase without unnecessary stress or judgment.
8. The Perils of DIY Pregnancy Grooming
I’m happy, or perhaps mortified, to report that attempting any form of “woman-scaping” down there on my own before labor was a grave mistake. Upon closer inspection in the mirror, the result was about as disastrous as a three-year-old wielding a pair of scissors on long bangs – a complete botch job with little to no hope of growing back in time to be any less humiliating than it already is. My clear aversion to getting a professional wax ultimately led me to this regrettable aesthetic below the waist.
This particular anecdote highlights the practical difficulties and sometimes comical failures of maintaining self-care in late pregnancy. The inability to see or reach certain areas turns what was once a simple task into an impossible mission. It’s a reminder that sometimes, letting go of control and accepting help (or simply accepting the current state of affairs) is the wisest course of action during these challenging final weeks.
9. The Uniform of Late Pregnancy: Leggings and Stretchy Everything
At 39 weeks, I have all but abandoned my regular wardrobe. My daily uniform now consists exclusively of leggings and anything and everything stretchy designed to go over the bump that Old Navy sells. The concept of “fashion” has been entirely replaced by “comfort,” and I’ve never been happier with a sartorial choice. The tight waistbands, restrictive fabrics, and anything that isn’t explicitly designed for a pregnant belly have been banished to the back of the closet.
This wardrobe evolution is a practical necessity. The relentless growth of the bump and the accompanying discomforts demand clothing that offers maximum flexibility and minimal constriction. It’s a testament to the fact that during these final weeks, the priority shifts entirely to feeling as comfortable as possible, allowing me to navigate the physical challenges with a little more ease. My new uniform may not be haute couture, but it certainly brings peace of mind.
10. Developing “Glutes of Steel” and the Nesting Instinct
I now possess glutes of steel, a direct result of having to perform full, deep squats every single time I need to pick something up off the floor. This already arduous task is made infinitely worse by my incessant nesting instinct – an overwhelming compulsion to clean everything “in case she comes today.” The combination means I’m constantly bending, lifting, and organizing, turning my home into a pristine, albeit temporarily so, sanctuary for our incoming arrival.
The nesting instinct has taken over with an almost frantic energy. Every speck of dust, every disorganized drawer, every slightly crooked picture frame becomes an urgent mission. It’s a powerful, primal urge to prepare the perfect environment, even if it means enduring significant physical discomfort in the process. My “glutes of steel” are just a side effect of this unwavering dedication to creating a welcoming haven for our baby.
11. The Mental Toll of Constant Anticipation
I’ve essentially stopped making any sure-fire plans because I’ve convinced myself “this is really going to be it” every five seconds. This perpetual state of readiness means I’ve done almost zero fun or spontaneous things in the last two weeks. Every Braxton Hicks, every unusual twinge, sends my mind into overdrive, scrutinizing every sensation for signs of impending labor. It’s an exhausting cycle of false alarms and heightened anxiety.
This constant state of anticipation has placed my life on a peculiar kind of pause. While it’s filled with immense excitement for what’s to come, it’s also marked by a strange limbo, where the ordinary rhythms of life feel suspended. The unpredictability of childbirth dictates my every move, making it difficult to commit to anything beyond the immediate moment. It’s a mental marathon, constantly preparing for a race whose start time is utterly unknown.
12. The Profound Blend of Excitement and Fear
I am more excited to meet this little girl than I’ve ever been to meet anyone in my entire life. Simultaneously, I am equally parts completely terrified of coming home and navigating what life will be like with a newborn. I’m not typically one to shy away from change, but this particular transformation feels profoundly different. I haven’t spent much time around babies throughout my life, and unlike Jared, kids don’t naturally flock to me like a magnet.
There’s immense pressure, isn’t there? The monumental task of taking home a small human and raising them to be a loving, compassionate, and strong individual, all while figuring out parenthood on the fly. It’s an exhilarating prospect, yet undeniably daunting. This blend of overwhelming joy and significant apprehension perfectly encapsulates the emotional roller coaster of these final days, as I stand on the precipice of a completely new chapter.
Navigating Antepartum Depression: A Candid Share on Mental Health in Pregnancy
Last, but certainly not least, of this trimester update is a topic of immense personal significance: antepartum depression. If you frequently follow my stories on Instagram, you’re likely somewhat familiar with some of my recent struggles and trials. It has been a genuinely challenging year overall, even before factoring in the tumultuous cocktail of pregnancy hormones. However, around 36 weeks, after multiple candid conversations with both my husband and my OB-GYN, I made the crucial decision that starting medication – specifically, a low dose of Zoloft – was the best course of action for both the baby’s well-being and my own in combating depression.
I’ve had prior encounters with depression during my high school and college years, taking medication for short periods on both occasions. Thankfully, it’s something I’m keenly aware runs in my family and personal history, so I’m quite familiar with recognizing its insidious signs. In all other instances, I’ve managed to find effective coping mechanisms that allowed me to navigate these challenges drug-free. My number one belief, for example, is in the transformative power of therapy. I truly believe everyone benefits from having an unbiased, unrelated individual to talk to regularly, offering a fresh perspective on life’s circumstances. Yet, even with this invaluable resource, I distinctly felt that this particular episode of depression was different, more overwhelming than anything I had previously experienced.
The past year had been an relentless series of compounding stressors. Since discovering I was pregnant, we embarked on a massive renovation of our studio space, only to then endure the trauma of Hurricane Harvey and subsequent studio flooding. This was followed by renovating our own house after a string of unexpected issues and frustrating rip-offs from contractors. Then came the terrifying news that my Mom had a large brain aneurysm, discovered during scans to check for internal bleeding after she was in a car accident caused by someone running a red light. This personal crisis was quickly succeeded by several of our cherished employees unexpectedly departing Sugar & Cloth for various reasons, adding significant professional strain. All of this chaos was further intensified by our desperate attempts to work ahead to secure some form of maternity leave, made all the more stressful by Jared and I both relying on the same source of income.
Layer onto this already monumental pile of external pressures all the “regular” pregnancy hormones, the relentless aches and pains, the intense nesting instinct, the immense excitement, and the profound fears associated with impending motherhood. It simply became SO MUCH. Suddenly, I found myself spiraling into a state of perpetual sadness, becoming increasingly hateful and negative towards myself, and then, heartbreakingly, towards those around me. I began having disturbing thoughts that people would be better off without me, a truly alarming sign that this was something that could not, under any circumstances, go unaddressed. More importantly, it was fundamentally unfair for my soon-to-be baby and my husband to have to emotionally compete with such pervasive negativity.
I would experience debilitating bouts of crying, followed by long periods of sitting in a complete daze, utterly devoid of the desire to get out of bed or engage in any activity. This was a stark contrast to my usual self; I am, by nature, a doer, an active and engaged individual. Yet, I had become a total recluse, deliberately sectioning myself off from everyone and desperately attempting to hide the depth of my feelings. Recognizing this profound shift in my personality and well-being was a critical turning point that solidified the decision to seek further intervention.
I am now going on week four of medication and fully intend to continue it through the initial stages of postpartum recovery, all while meticulously monitoring any signs and symptoms. Crucially, I’m still actively engaging in all my regular self-care habits: learning to say “no” when things become overwhelming, finding solace in church messages, taking personal spa days for much-needed relaxation, continuing with therapy, striving to maintain a regular schedule, and utilizing essential oils for calming. Instead of internalizing the need for medicine as a personal failing or a source of weakness, I’m actively choosing to embrace it as a positive reinforcement. It’s a proactive step towards ensuring I’m setting both myself, our baby, and our entire family up for success, rather than allowing pride or negativity to lead us down a path of struggle.
Did any of you navigate the complexities of antepartum or postpartum depression? I would genuinely love to hear your stories, your experiences, and what strategies you found worked best for you during such a challenging, yet transformative, period. Sharing our journeys can be an incredibly powerful way to support one another and shed light on these often unspoken struggles.