So far in my pregnancy, the hardest thing for me has been to not push myself too hard. I’m accustomed to spending the weekends hauling furniture and other projects around my apartment. I’m accustomed to carrying two 24-packs of water bottles at a time rather than ask for help, just to prove that I’m not a “girl.” I regularly declare that I can handle anything heavy around the office, because I used to play rugby. “I can do it myself.” “I need the workout.” “I call this strength training.” I may dress fairly girly most days, but I have the heart of a domesticated butch.
So for me to have to say “sorry, I shouldn’t be lifting anything that heavy” is really tough for me. I’m trying to make compromises with myself, to ease myself into it slowly. For example, I can carry more weight if it can be carried in such a way that it doesn’t put pressure on my abdomen. So, I can carry more on my shoulder or under my arm than I can carry in front of me. I can carry more if it is in small bags and balanced on my right and left sides.
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