You get a good night’s rest. You get up feeling revived and ready to take on the world. You have a power breakfast and you jump into your favourite pair of well-worn jeans, you know the one, the one that hugs you in all the right places. You zip, button and you do that final check in the mirror from all the angles and you like what you see.
Same month, same week, two days later…you roll out of bed, you look in the mirror and realize why your husband was looking at you strangely just now. You look down and can’t see your toes or anything past your navel for that matter. You pull out your favourite jeans the same one you wore exactly two days ago. You put it on, it reaches past your hips, you suck in the belly to see if you can zip it up without busting the seams. You try to alternate your breathing whilst zipping it up and almost faint for lack of oxygen. It’s not happening, at least not today. The jeans has decided it will not be accepting any bloat today. Get something else to put on chick.
It’s frustrating when you have to go out and at the last minute when you are pumped and primed, you find out the hard way that you just can’t wear that outfit again. Clothes are honest and unforgiving and some fabrics show up Every. Single. Thing. I have come to accept that bloating is a part of my life now and sadly it comes without warning. Your stomach looks relatively flat that morning and two hours after you look like you swallowed a watermelon, you add some gassiness to that and voila, you have a pregnant mother of five months. Bloating has become the bane of my existence lately and I try to combat it by eating on time, working out regularly and if all else fails some good ol’ ginger tea. Sometimes I win, sometimes the bloat wins, but we both live to fight another day.