Just moments after stitching up my Cesarean incision following the birth of my first child, my OBGYN—a remarkably kind and brilliant woman with a soft French accent, who had once developed robotic solutions for complex gynecological procedures—leaned in and comforted me with a smile. “Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “The incision is very low. You’ll be able to wear a bikini.”
I chuckled to myself, thinking, “What a relief! What would I have done if I couldn’t wear a bikini?” Then I replied aloud, “Doc, you knew me before my pregnancy. I wasn’t wearing a bikini then, and I certainly won’t be wearing one now.”
When I first began contemplating pregnancy, I was a size 22/24. Even without formal medical training, I understood carrying a baby at that size posed health risks. I committed myself to exercising and joined Weight Watchers, ultimately shedding 42 pounds. However, even after this weight loss, I was still classified as overweight at a size 16/18. I approached my first OB appointment brimming with excitement about our growing family, only to be met with the sobering words from my doctor: “Due to your pre-pregnancy weight, we recommend that you gain no more than 10-15 pounds throughout your pregnancy.” My excitement deflated in an instant.
Throughout my pregnancy, I developed cravings—intense cravings—for brownie sundaes, and I allowed myself a small treat each day. I’m talking about a brownie no larger than a deck of cards with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The rest of the time, I tried to adhere to a healthy diet. Week after week, as the pounds gradually added up, my OB inquired about my eating habits. I admitted to my daily indulgence while also detailing my balanced meals. This petite doctor suggested I try just a bite of a brownie.
“Doc,” I replied, “I’m doing my best, but I’m going to eat a brownie if I want one.”
“Okay, how about just an eighth of a brownie?” she proposed.
Who actually eats an eighth of a brownie?
During my second trimester on a chilly winter day, my husband and I decided to go mall walking. I gazed into the windows of Victoria’s Secret, where images of impossibly thin models adorned the glass. Suddenly, I caught sight of my own reflection and thought, “Holy crap! I’m enormous!” Although I was five and a half months pregnant, I didn’t resemble a glowing expectant mother. Instead, I looked like a waddling trash bag filled with Jello. I didn’t show any signs of pregnancy until I was seven months along. At work, however, concealing my pregnancy wasn’t an issue; to my colleagues, it appeared I had been indulging in frequent dessert binges.
Fast forward to a sweltering August when I was 40 weeks pregnant. As I waddled through the grocery store preparing for a family picnic, I noticed the pitying gazes of women around me. One woman approached and said, “Oh, honey, you look so uncomfortable. I remember when I was pregnant with twins.”
In a fit of emotion, I collapsed in the condiment aisle, crying, “There’s only one in there! It’s not twins! I’m just fat and pregnant!” My husband hurriedly apologized to the startled woman as she hurried away.
Perhaps I overreacted, but I was exhausted, in pain, and feeling huge. It was the second time that day someone had assumed I was carrying twins.
Despite warnings about the potential complications of being overweight during pregnancy, my experience was surprisingly uneventful. I witnessed two close friends—both beautiful and slender—struggle with infertility, while I faced no such challenges. A fit colleague was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, but I avoided that too. Although I did go eight days past my due date and required a C-section, I recovered quickly without complications.
My son weighed 8 pounds and 15 ounces, with adorable rolls from the start. The morning after his birth, I was eager to step on the scale, anticipating a significant weight loss from the baby, amniotic fluid, and placenta. To my shock, I found I had gained two pounds instead. Apparently, I hadn’t accounted for the IV fluids that had turned me into a version of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
Ultimately, all three of my children were delightful, plump bundles of joy, each with their own adorable chub. A larger mother can lead to larger babies, which can mean those babies may sleep through the night sooner. All three of my babies were sleeping through the night by nine weeks old. Even though I still look about six months pregnant seven months after my third child, I am grateful for the sweet moments of motherhood and the restful nights that come with it. And honestly? That feels far better than being skinny ever could.
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Summary
This article recounts the personal experiences of a woman navigating pregnancy while being classified as overweight. It highlights the challenges she faced, including societal perceptions, cravings, and the emotional toll of weight-related comments. Despite the warnings and concerns surrounding her weight, she ultimately had healthy pregnancies and successful outcomes. The journey serves as a reminder that each pregnancy is unique and that love for one’s children ultimately outweighs societal expectations.