Today is the first day of my third trimester and I am still rocking my heels. I have been told that it’s time to give my heels up for months, but my heels and I have a plan, we are strutting our stuff all the way to the delivery room. Ok, maybe not the delivery room, however, I’m not ready to give my heels up yet. If my body hasn’t rejected them why should I? At seven months pregnant, my body has done a lot of growing. There are times when I don’t even want to look at myself in the mirror but my feet are not swollen, my legs have not given out and my heels remain faithful. They make me feel good and that’s enough reason for me to keep wearing them.
For Christmas my sister-in-law gave me a mug that says, “The higher the heels, the closer to heaven.” I believe this quote. My heels lift my spirit. I don’t want to sound shallow, but any woman who has ever ever been pregnant can tell you, there are not too many clothing options that make you feel good. So if you find one, you hold on to it. I’ve made a pact with my body. Every inch of you can grow, just not my feet. And believe me, my body has held up to its end of the bargain because it has not let up on any other limb, down to my fingers. I can’t even wear my wedding rings anymore, and let’s not get started on my pants…ugh.
It’s ok though. I’ve pre-paid for my personal trainer and I plan on snapping back to my goal weight as soon as possible. When I do that the last thing I need is to have to invest in bigger shoes. I have already invested so much into my shoe collection it would be a total devastation to have to start all over. So please pray for me. The one thing I’ve asked God for, other than a healthy baby and natural delivery is to keep my perfect size sevens. Now, that’s not too much to ask for…is it?
I consider myself a pretty tough chick. Don’t get me wrong I cry at movies and for frilly girly stuff but my feelings don’t necessarily get hurt easily. I am usually the one giving advice to my friends and family to toughen up. I get angry before I get sad or hurt.
But here’s the thing, lately I have been having complete emotional breakdowns over the weirdest things. Just this morning I was bawling over a pot. Let me explain. When I got pregnant we decided we needed a bigger place, so we moved a month ago today. In my excitement I decided I wanted to get rid of all my old stuff and get new stuff – for the baby of course! So I gave away all my furniture, pots, pans, etc. I have been in total redecorating mode.
One of the things I’ve been really excited about was getting new pots. I’m talking professional, expensive you don’t have to use a scrubber pots. So that’s what I did. I brought a top of the line Calphalon, stainless steel pot set. And let me tell you these pots are worth every penny I spent on them. I am so proud of my pots. They cook great, they clean easy and they are so shiny and pretty. They make you want to cook.
Well, this morning my husband burned one of my pots. And I mean burned, had the fire detector going off and everything. My heart dropped. The poor pot has a huge black burn in it stretching vertically from top to bottom. I wanted to take the pot and hit him over the head with it. I was so angry. I just went in my room and slammed the door. When he came and apologized I shrugged it off, but when he left for work this morning I went in the kitchen and started scrubbing the pot with every once of strength I had. But the burn wouldn’t come out. That’s when I broke. I had a total meltdown. I cried so hard my dog started crying with me. It was a total mess.
These are great pots and I haven’t even had them a month and now one is ruined. Did I mention it’s a set, I guess I can go buy a replacement of that one pot, but it’s still annoying. I am totally prepared to blame the meltdown on me being pregnant. However, pregnant or not I would’ve been upset, but the tears and sobbing – totally the babies fault. I mean come on I have tough skin!