Fit mama

There is a lot of uncertainty and misinformation surrounding fitness training during pregnancy. While everyone agrees that a minimum level of activity is good for both the mother and the growing fetus (even if mom was inactive before getting pregnant), there is more debate about moving beyond low-impact things like walking, swimming, and gentle yoga.

I was physically active long before I got pregnant. Working out and pushing myself physically has always been a part of my life, whether it’s been desert hiking, open-water swimming, functional training, Zumba, or yoga. I’m not crazy athletic; I just like being physically fit and able to rely on my body. And I like my ice cream and skinny jeans.

For the first three months of my pregnancy, I toned it way down when it came to working out. Partially because when I finally got pregnant, there was a mental block about not wanting to shake the baby out, as silly as that seems in hindsight, and partially because I wasn’t really sure what my body was doing anymore between the tiredness, instant aversion to many of my favorite foods, and the constant queasiness.

Then I got sick of not moving and was determined to have a fit and healthy pregnancy, and to set myself up as optimally as possible for a quick recovery and return to my skinny jeans. So I started working out again. At first I continued with my functional resistance training and cardio on the elliptical, and then added Pilates, swimming, and pelvic floor exercises.

As my belly and Roo (as we’ve taken to calling him) have grown, I’ve had to adjust my technique and resistance, remember that my balance and core stability are temporarily on hiatus, and listen to my body even more than before. When there have been questions about what is good for me or not, I’ve diligently done my research.

I am by no means an expert, so take anything I say as a starting point for your own research. I just know that I feel good about and enjoy what I am doing. And, even more importantly, I feel comfortable in my new athlete-mama body, despite a few more pounds and a big belly.

Funny things about being pregnant – the middle days

Realizing that while I can still drive in a straight line, I can no longer park straight.

Being pregnancy drunk – an unexplainable silliness leading to singing to myself and random mental commentary on innocent bystanders. I swear I saw Lenny Kravitz pushing a stroller down the street!

Realizing that no matter how much I was hoping to resist the trend of my ever-growing hips, it’s time to put away the skinny jeans (and any other pants I used to fit in).

Running into things with my suddenly-there baby belly.

Having that same belly and the accompanying boobs intercepting and statically attracting any crumbs attempting to make it to the floor.

Hoping I don’t tinkle when I sneeze. (That’s what those pelvic floor exercises are for!)

Wondering if sneezing bothers the little guy.

Being forced into better posture by the belly.

Pizza and puppies

Leaving Düsseldorf was a hard thing to do. After nearly three years, it had really become home. We loved our neighborhood, and we had a great group of friends. The kind you can call up and spontaneously meet for Mexican in 20 minutes. My personal training business was booming, and my Zumba classes were up and running.

But change is what keeps life interesting, so we dislocated an entire clan of dust bunnies, had a bittersweet last pizza at our favorite Italian place, and moved to Frankfurt.

Our apartment, while smaller than the one we had in Düsseldorf, is getting quite cozy. The many windows let in every ray of sun the sky gives us, although I am acutely aware of the fact that we will need a window cleaner to come by one of these days. The balcony is gloriously large and finally allowed us to put our American grill to good use over the warm summer we had. Our various trappings of life have slowly found their places again.

The neighborhood is still lacking as far as human connection goes. Frankfurt is a much bigger and more international city than Düsseldorf. Many of the neighbors are reticent to even say hello, and much of the staff at the restaurants we’ve tried don’t bother hiding their indifference. Although, we have found an Italian place, an Austrian place, and a coffee house that are very promising. I’m hoping that if nothing else works, me wandering around with a stroller when December comes will melt all their hearts. And if not, we’ll just have to get a puppy.

Funny things about being pregnant – the early days

Feeling self-conscious about the fact that the initial phase of baby belly looks like a college student’s beer gut.

Being winded after a single flight of stairs.

Realizing they have special seating for me in the trams and special parking spaces at the grocery store.

Being paranoid about the source of my cheese and any leftovers or open food products older than two days.

Craving no-nos like wine and gelato. Although I did later find out that some flavors of gelato are made without egg. Yeah!

Having absolutely no desire for my favorite latte macchiato. What?!

In love

I have decided that I love my pregnant belly. Sure, it’s weird to not see my feet anymore unless I’m standing a certain way, to no longer fit into even my ‘fat jeans’, to not be able to balance on one foot very well anymore, to groan like a rudely awoken bear when I put on my socks, and to not know where the ends of my body are when I’m walking around corners and other objects (including Toby). But it’s so very nice to feel the little person moving inside of me. I love talking to him and stroking my belly, imagining that he can feel me through my skin and thinning abdominal muscles, wondering the whole time if he’ll get Toby’s long legs and thick hair, what color his eyes will be, what he thinks of me.

The housewife days of fall

Two of the last messages I sent to Toby while he was off on a recent business trip are quite indicative of how much fun the housewife inside of me is having:

“Already learned Spanish, read some more Beckenboden [pelvic floor] book, wrote a little blog, and enjoyed coffee and blueberry cheesecake at the coffee house. Not bad. Now we’re off to dm [the super Walgreens of Germany]. The excitement never ends!”

“Frankfurt is doing well – warm enough to do ‘yard work’ in a tank top. Patio is clean now and ready for the next rain storm :) Up next, chasing dust bunnies with the vacuum cleaner. Then afternoon coffee!”

I don't even want to think about how many leaves are left on the trees - I hope yard work stays fun....

I don’t even want to think about how many leaves are left on the trees – I hope yard work stays fun….

Barefoot and pregnant

Because I had finally hit the point where I could proudly say I was earning real money, I milked my PT earning potential in Düsseldorf as long as I could. When I joined Toby in Frankfurt seven weeks after he’d already started his new job, there was no doubt I would continue with PT.

I first picked a new gym, no easy task when you don’t have a feel for the market, and started hanging out there. I had the effect of double-bad timing to contend with – first there were all the World Cup soccer games keeping people from the gym, and then it was summer vacation when all Germans take off for a few weeks with their families. Needless to say, it was hard to get a hold of people to train with for that all-so-critical initial contact.

I stuck it out for a few months, always waffling between the positive feelings that my breakthrough was coming any day and the negative feelings that our household income would be better off if I spent more time at the coffee house and stopped paying my gym rent and own health insurance.

In Germany you are required by law to pause your work for maternity leave six weeks before you give birth. For me that would be October. I’ve decided to stop a bit early.

I feel a sense of relief now that the decision has been made. It’s also given us something to laugh about. While I have spent the summer falling (comfortably and of my own free will) more and more into the role of housewife as Toby’s job got crazier and mine never did, I am now officially, full-time “barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”

We just talked the other night about how strange it is that we’ve so easily slipped into these old-school roles – Toby being the breadwinner and me the housewife. I don’t mind. Sure, laundry in and of itself isn’t an inspiring job, but the fact that I’m doing it while baking another human being and the fact that it allows us to relax together for the few minutes Toby has each evening make it worthy of my time.

And, as Toby quoted from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, “the man is the head of the house, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.” That’s what I’ll think of if the mundane activities of running a household ever leave me uninspired.