I remember when I was a newly knocked up, wee babe of a first-time pregnant gal, diligent with my prenatal yoga and daily brisk walks, careful to prepare meals that sampled all the food groups […]
I remember when I was a newly knocked up, wee babe of a first-time pregnant gal, diligent with my prenatal yoga and daily brisk walks, careful to prepare meals that sampled all the food groups (I may or may not have kept a checklist, but I’ll never admit to that), impatient for my belly to show so that I could be asked by friends, co-workers, the check-out lady at the drugstore how I was feeling and I could answer “THE BEST EVER!”
However, the one thing I could not prevent, or prepare for, or namaste my way out of, no matter how many downward dogs I did, was a sneaky phenomenon that plagues many a pregnant woman. You won’t read about it in any books. No one tells you to expect it when you’re expecting. It just gradually takes over, stealthily, like a face-thief in the night. That’s right, I’m talking about Pregnancy Nose.
Oh, Pregnancy Nose. That slow descent of a woman’s schnoz in the latter months of her pregnancy from pointy and perky down to bulbous and vast, like a lump of butter melting in a hot skillet. I suppose other parts of your face swell during months 7, 8 and 9, too, but the nose is like the valedictorian of Face Ballooning University. Or at least mine is. You know me—always the overacheiver!
My first foray into swole-nosed territory.
The thing is, you look at yourself in the mirror on such a regular basis as your midsection’s girth increases that you don’t really see the change in your face. Until you do. Usually it happens when you’re shown a picture of yourself. After which you may spend a few minutes moaning Duuuuuuude. Where’s my faaaaaace?
Duh, it’s right there. UNDER THAT GIANT NOSE.
I’m going to go on record right now to say that while I totally think pregnancy is magical and amazing and our bodies are a wonderland, of course, absolutely, obviously, Pregnancy Nose can go take a long jump off a short pier. I mean, come on—we have to have a big ol’ swole-looking face in addition to cankles, sausage fingers, Flintstone feet, doughy arms AND melon belly? I call shenanigans.
That’s enough embiggening right there in front, thankyouverymuch.
P.S. That’s Rosie in there. I don’t currently look like that … yet.
It’s coming though, I know it. Just like I know The Waddle will arrive univited, along with its good-for-nothing friends Major Heartburn and Snoring Like a Trucker. And I will probably feel big and gross sometimes, with no cure but good friends and a husband who will bald-face lie to make me feel temporarily better.
You know what actually does help a little is hearing about other women who are Pregnancy Nose survivors. (That’s one good thing about it—it goes away, POOF, like magic after the baby’s born. No need to do nose crunches or anything. All that other swollen stuff … not so much.) So lay it on me, sisters. Are you plagued by similar water retention in your olfactory area? Do you feel similarly as What the heck about it, as I do? What can we do to rise up above it? (P.S. The answer is nothing, but I’m going for a UNITY! type of feel here, so roll with me.) I propose a song, in the vein of Beyonce (who, as far as I can tell, is NOT suffering from this particular malady, but we’ll overlook that for the time being): All the swole-nosed ladies! All the swole-nosed ladies. All the swole-nosed ladies! All the swole-nosed ladies. Put your hands up! Whoa-oh-OH-oh-oh-OH-oh-oh-oh-OH-oh-oh-oh …