Please note my precise words.

I said: I feel fat.

Not: I am fat.

Or even: I look fat.

This is a tricky post to write. I know that. But here I go. Here’s the deal: I am pregnant. I look pregnant. And these are indeed glorious facts. I am excited to be expanding with purpose. I am willing to put on pounds because that is what I am supposed to do.

But still. I feel fat. The scale is doing its thing, creeping up at the appropriate rate, and intellectually I’m okay with this. But emotionally? It’s hard. My jeans are getting snug. Philosophically, this is a wonderful sign of evolution. Psychically, it’s messing with me.

Honestly, I didn’t think this would happen this time around. I have had practice with this. This is my third pregnancy. I know that it is both sublime and unsettling to feel my body morph into a vessel for life. I know that I need to pack on twenty-plus pounds in order to produce a healthy seven-pounder. I also know that these extra pounds tend to slide from me once my forty weeks are up. So. I know these things. And I always assumed that this knowledge, this experience, would serve me well down the line. And by down the line I mean now. Now that I am expecting again.

Alas, no. I am here. In this very same place, a happy hybrid of stress and surrender, of celebration and criticism. In this very same place, spending precious moments of what is likely my final pregnancy fretting over a number no one but me knows, a feeling that no one but me feels. I don’t like this. I wish things were different.

If I’m honest though this is only partially about pregnancy. Historically, I have been known to feel fat, to conjure visions of physical perfection in my mind and then feel bad when those visions don’t materialize. Historically, I have been known to equate the perfect body with the perfect life.

All of this is bogus.

I am realizing as I write this that this post, this place, has little to do with fat. It does have everything to do with feeling though. Feeling uncertain and overwhelmed and out of control. Feeling divine anticipation and profound hope. Feeling like I can do it all and none of it. Feeling dizzy with change.

But still. I end where I began. With three little words: I feel fat.

Now I just need to figure out what “fat” really means.

____________________________________________

• Do you ever feel fat?
• Did you have a hard time gaining weight during pregnancy even though you knew you had to?
• Why do so many of us align physical appearance with personal happiness?
• Do you think we unwittingly explain existential unrest in physical terms?

The last few days here have been soggy. Literally. Figuratively. Existentially.

The rain has been ruthless, the win wild, the skies somber. And I have followed suit, staying in sweatpants, eschewing the shower, feeling quite lazy. Though pregnant, I have indulged in a little extra caffeine here and there to try to perk up. But it hasn’t helped. I have felt constant motivation to do one thing and one thing only.

Nap.

The timing for this stint of sogginess isn’t good. We are traveling to California this weekend and there are errands to run. I am coming up on a big self/agent-imposed deadline for my next book. These days are days I need. To do things. To accomplish tasks. To produce. To progress.

But alas. It hasn’t happened. I sat there yesterday afternoon, still unshowered for no good reason, on the couch. My kids buzzed about me, reminders of the energy I didn’t have. The kind lady on the television said there was a tornado watch. An excuse to stay put, home, snuggled up.

I wish I could enjoy these pauses. Allow myself them. These times out of time, these unplanned breaks, these detours.

But instead. A pit of worry grows. Anxiety shuffles. My mind dances with the things I can’t bring myself to do. Lists beckon. Pages stay blank. Criticism creeps up.

In these moments, I look outside. At the damp and gritty gray. At the mangled umbrellas strewn on city streets. At the shallow puddles that wait for feet and frolic. And I wonder. Does the weather really affect us, burrowing into our superhero cells, making us sleepy, making us sluggish, making us stop? Or is this but another lovely excuse we have and hold for being imperfect and utterly human, for needing to slow down sometimes?

I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know. But I’m ready for the sun’s return.

_____________________________________________

• Does the weather affect you?
• Do you have days when you have a hard time functioning, where everything seems to be in slow motion?
• Do you think existential sogginess is a reality independent of local weather?
• Are you hard on yourself when you are not on top of your game?

Last week, Husband and I went on a date. It was a crisp night and we ate dinner outside at a local tapas restaurant. Then we headed to the glorious Magnolia Bakery for dessert. Now, I am not much of a dessert person, but that night I had a hankering for Magnolia’s divine banana pudding (it has crushed ‘Nilla Wafers!). So, off we went.

Husband and I waited in line. He selected a bevy of cupcakes to take home to Nanny and the girls. I pointed out all of the desserts in the fridge that we never pay attention to. (Invariably we head to Magnolia for one of two things: cupcakes or pudding.) Husband scanned the other dessert options. And then something bizarre happened.

“Cheesecake!” he said.

“What about it?”

“I’m getting it! I love cheesecake.”

“What do you mean you love cheesecake?”

I have known Husband for going on nine years. That’s almost a decade. I have not once witnessed him order or eat a piece of cheesecake. Nor have I heard anything about this fondness for cheesecake. How is this possible?

So, on the walk home, as I ate my pudding, Husband told me something endearing about his childhood. He told me that when he was eight or nine and he went out to eat with his family, he would order the exact amount of food as his own father even though he was obviously much smaller than his father. Appetizer. Main. Dessert. And, like a good boy, he would clean his plate each course. And dessert? You guessed it. Cheesecake. But. And here’s the funny part. (Or not funny part.) Often, after these massive meals out, Husband, little boy Husband, would vomit. Because he ate way too much.

“So, let me get this straight. You like cheesecake even though it made you vomit numerous times?”

“Yup,” said Husband.

At home, we retreated to the couch. Husband tucked into his beloved cheesecake as we queued up a Mad Men rerun. And I sat there in an unpredictably ponderous post date night moment. I was not just thinking about cheesecake or family dinners. No. Questions, important questions, danced through my evening mind.

Do we ever really know someone fully?

Are there always secret aspects of self – little and big – waiting to emerge?

And even in the moment, I knew my philosophical fit was a bit dramatic. It’s not as if I learned that Husband had another wife once upon a time. I learned that he happens to adore cheesy cake. But then I had to make sure.

“You don’t have another wife stashed away somewhere with whom you eat cheesecake, do you?”

He smiled, licking graham cracker crumbs from his lips. “No.”

And then, thankfully, there was no vomit. None at all.

(Where exactly is the epiphany in here? Not entirely sure. Let me know if you find it.)

_____________________________________________

• Do we ever really know someone fully?
• Have you ever learned something about someone many years after meeting them? Did this surprise you?
• Do you think the tiny personal mysteries are what make life and relationships interesting?
• Are you a fan of cheesecake?
• Do you (like me, unlike husband) tend to avoid foods that have historically made you sick?
  

Remember last week when I asked you a few million times to vote for me in a book club contest? Well, I am now officially at liberty to announce that — thanks to all of you and your exquisite voting support — Life After Yes is the final SheKnows Book Club pick of the year!

The book club discussion will take place in October/November. If you are interested in joining or learning more details, please click HERE. And stay tuned for news about upcoming contests, interviews, reviews of LAY and details about a live chat I will be doing over at SheKnows.

A little info on SheKnows: As one of the fastest growing destinations on the web, SheKnows (www.sheknows.com) is consistently one of the top 10 properties for women, generating over 150 million page views and more than 12.5 million unique visitors per month. The SheKnows audience gains access to exclusive content on entertainment, parenting, health and wellness, money and career, dating, beauty and style and more, and are offered a stimulating, well-rounded online experience enhanced with a vibrant message board community, free games and activities, and captivating blogs. The company is based in Los Angeles with offices in New York, Scottsdale and Chicago. SheKnows is part of Atomic Online (www.atomiconline.com), a diversified online media company. (Information taken from this page of SheKnows site.)

So, it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway: I am thrilled. Honored. Pumped. All of the above.

And I am very grateful to SheKnows for providing me and my book this wonderful opportunity, to the readers and bloggers who nominated Life After Yes for consideration as a pick, and to all of you out there who took precious time from your days to vote for this rookie in the writing game. I have said it time and time again here, but it’s true: writing is in so many ways a very isolating, even lonely, experience. And feeling as supported as I do now is really nothing short of amazing. Thank you.

Finally, a big thanks also to my very talented fellow nominees: Chandra Hoffman (Chosen), Claire Avery (Hidden Wives) and Melissa Senate (The Love Goddess’ Cooking School). I look forward to reading these three books and I encourage you all to pick them up as well.

Okay, that’s it for today. Check back tomorrow for my earth-shattering Cheesecake Epiphany.

(And, again, thank you!!!!)

In case you missed the memo, I’m pregnant with my third child. And I’m a glorious mixture of anticipation and apathy and anxiety. (Yes, these things can commingle. Trust me.) This pregnancy’s been interesting so far. Familiar and yet new terrain. So much of this makes sense, but so much is startlingly fresh. Now that I am finally beginning to feel better physically, I have been doing a lot more thinking about this. This reality. This fact that we are all on the precipice of compelling change. That our family, as I type this, as cells multiply within my core, is evolving.

My latest fascination is with what’s inside. I know it’s a baby, and itty-bitty at this point. I know, and am utterly in awe of the fact that, day by day, this little being is growing more complex and mature. But I do not know yet whether it is a boy or a girl. It is one of these things, but I am not aware yet which. This amazes me. That there is truth inside me, and I can’t behold it.

I will have an answer in less than two weeks. On my birthday, in fact. (October 4th for all you calendar kids!) Yes, on the day I turn thirty-two, I will lie there on that mechanical chair while a kind woman scans a wand over my belly. An image will appear on the screen. Black and white. If all goes well (and I pray that it does), we will see what awaits us. A heart beating with vigor. A little person in the throes of becoming. And then, at some point, this woman will ask a question I have heard before, “Do you want to know what you’re having?”

And Husband and I will, in unison, say yes. And she will reveal what it is.

What’s inside.

And so. Today, I sit here mere days from knowing. Many people have been asking me what I want. And what I want is obviously a healthy child. That’s what matters. All that matters. Truly. But they probe further. Boy or girl? They ask. And I say I don’t know. Because this seems the appropriate answer. There is a creature in there and I don’t want to offend him or her. But I also say this because it is true.

I don’t know.

This happened yesterday. Nanny asked. “What do you want?”

And maybe she was seeking a simple, one-word reply. But that’s not what she got. No.

“I think I want a girl. I love the idea of three little girls growing up together. There is something so magical, so dear to me, about sisters. But… I don’t know. That might be a defense mechanism. Maybe I think I want a girl because I feel that’s what I will have and I want to be okay with that. Maybe what I really want is a boy, to see what it is to have a son, but I won’t admit this because I don’t think it’s going to happen. After all, it must be amazing to know what it is to have a daughter as well as a son. The weird thing is that I really don’t know what it is I want, but I’m pretty sure that I want one or the other.”

Yes, I was rambling. But buried in there, in my meandering monologue, was something I had never really appreciated before. Never seen. That something? That our very desires can often be opaque. Even to us, their owners.

And so. I don’t know. I really don’t know. What’s inside. What I want to be inside.

Either way, it’s incredible, isn’t it? That, in this very moment, as my fingers dance across the keys, little fingers dance inside me. Waving. An early, exquisite hello.

_____________________________

• Do you believe that it’s possible to want something and not know what that something is?
• If you have pregnant before, did you have strong desires for boy or girl?
• Do you think all of us, deep down, want one of each gender or not necessarily?
• Do you think our psyche can work to protect us from disappointment by obscuring the details of our innermost wants?
• What do you think is inside?
• What do you think I want to be inside?