Just a Spoonful of “Preggo Power”

Just a Spoonful of “Preggo Power”

For some reason I am the most productive person when I’m pregnant. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I am. It’s either the extra blood flow or the constant reminder that there is an imminent deadline looming that will pass with the delivery of this baby. You would think that all I want to do is curl up into a comfy catlike ball next to a fireplace (unrealistic in Dubai), read a book, and snack on homemade cookies, but I don’t. I mean, yes, I do want to do that, but I don’t. I have the strongest willpower when I’m pregnant. I will fight the urge to consume that third glazed donut or perfectly warmed and just newly buttered croissant. I will want it, but I will fight it.

I’m about 5 months in and this is my second pregnancy. I can’t even begin to tell you how different both pregnancies have been. When I was this far along and pregnant with my daughter, I had already been writing in her journal every morning and every night.



Now that I am pregnant with my second, not only do I not know the sex or have a list of names to choose from, my stints of writing in his or her journal boils down to one line a day. At best. And the line is usually something along the lines of:

“Hey, baby…you okay in there? Sorry for all the squats today, but your sister wanted me to act out all the different animals in her book. I especially got into the reenactment of the kangaroo. Love u. Can’t wait to meet you.”

So back to being productive. I call it, “preggo power.” Basically all this means is that I refuse to sit on my couch eating BBQ chips and cookie dough ice cream (both separately and at times together) and give in to the fatigue (and overall lethargy that the Dubai heat induces).

Instead, I find ways to sneak a bit of caffeine into my diet. Often. And so, I’m now working on a mixture of fuel: caffeine and resistance. My doctor is of the belief that “pregnant women think they have more energy than they really have.” My husband agrees. My reaction? I roll my eyes. Oh and needless to say, I switched doctors and “forgot” to make my husband’s favorite chicken dish for dinner and buy him razor blades and shaving gel. Oops.



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