A postpartum comeback?

I am acutely aware that for a blog ostensibly about exercise I haven’t written much on this subject in a little while. The various changes over the past ten months to my life, lifestyle and body as a result of pregnancy and childbirth have resulted in a shift in my fitness routine, with a significant decrease in the frequency and intensity of my workouts. While I continued to exercise throughout my pregnancy, yoga, weights, walking and swimming took the spotlight, while running played more of a supporting role. 

On 10 August my baby was born by caesarean section. It may be quite telling that while in the operating theatre one of my first questions to the obstetrician was when can I exercise again? I was told I could do a ‘gentle cycle on a stationary bike’ from four weeks, but no running or swimming until after six weeks. At the time six weeks seemed like a lifetime away, yet now, with the six week mark fast approaching, I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone! Florence has occupied so much of my headspace and my physical and emotional energy, the thought of going for a run has been so low down in my list of priorities as not even to register, that is, until now. 

Over the past week or so I’ve started to feel more like myself again and I’m eager to start getting back into shape. I’m adapting to the new sleep pattern, walking further and faster and my milk supply and appetite seem to have regulated, meaning that Florence is more satisfied and I’m no longer filled with the desire to guzzle Vego and peanut butter! My ability to multitask is returning (I’m feeding Florence as I write this) and this week I ordered a stack of books to read, treated myself to a manicure, got back on my yoga mat and ventured to the gym. 

While I’m taking it really easy, I was pleasantly surprised by my strength and fitness both on the mat and the bike. It’s amazing how much easier it is to chaturanga without an enormous stomach weighing you down and I can easily reach the handlebars of the bike again! My tummy does still leave a lot to be desired – I have a distinctive paunch now and it’s pretty squishy, as is my bum! But I hope once I can get back into a proper routine they will begin to firm up again.

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I’m really looking forward to returning to the pool once I’ve had the all clear from the doctor and I can’t wait to get Florence in too (she already has three swimming cossies just waiting!). I’m also looking forward to eventually lacing up my trainers again for a run, although at the moment, with my scar still tender and my ligaments still quite loose, I’m conscious not to race back into it and risk damage or injury.

While I’ve earmarked some mother and baby yoga, Pilates and buggy workout classes, to make sure my reintroduction to exercise is safe and properly paced, I’ve booked an appointment with a women’s health physio for the six week mark. This was something that other sporty mums recommended and will make sure that I’ve had a full MOT before embarking on a full comeback. 

I will be keeping you up to date on how I progress and the workouts I’m doing. If you are getting your fitness back after childbirth or injury, or if you have been through a similar experience do share any tips and advice with me, I always love to hear from you. 

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Labour of love

A little word of warning before I start: this is a post about my experience of labour and childbirth and may not be for everyone. Please feel free to skip it if you’re squeamish or if this content just isn’t for you. For the morbidly curious, on the other hand, read on!

It’s now just over two weeks since our beautiful baby girl, Florence was born, and what a two weeks! In that time I’ve had chance to process the experience of child birth, I’m starting to get used to my new body and it’s role as sole nutrition provider for our baby girl, and we are all getting to grips with our new life as a family of three. I was going to write here about both my labour and the process of adapting to the various postpartum changes to my body, but once I started writing I realised that the labour took up plenty of space on its own (!!) so the post on the physical impact of pregnancy and birth will have to follow. 

Ahead of the birth we had tried to steer ourselves away from a specific ‘birth plan’, knowing that some things just can’t be planned for. In the event, this open minded approach served us well as we certainly couldn’t have predicted the course that my labour took.

My contractions started at 8am the day after my due date. Following advice from our midwife, who we had seen the previous day, we continued our morning as usual and I sent R off to work. Throughout the course of the morning the contractions got progressively longer and closer together, but they were still no more than uncomfortable and I was able to do some weights, eat lunch and have some time on my yoga mat and birthing ball before deciding to go for a little walk in the park. Not far into the park it became apparent that the contractions were getting much stronger, so instead of forging on I turned around to walk the 3/4 mile home, a walk which became increasingly difficult. 

On my return I messaged R to tell him to make sure he had tied up any loose ends at work by the end of the day as I was sure today was the day and ran myself a bath. With the contractions getting stronger I tried to get into the bath, only for my waters to break before I’d even lowered myself in. From this point on the pain increased rapidly and I struggled to get dry and to dress and to get the final things together for my hospital bag (luckily I’d had the majority of things packed for some weeks and only needed to throw in final essentials). I have to admit to feeling pretty scared and very vulnerable in those moments alone. There were some tears and then, when my more practical side kicked in, there was some crawling on the kitchen floor to try to sort out food for the cat for fear of him being left overnight and going hungry. I also messaged R to get back asap – a request thwarted by his having a puncture en route home! 

I was so relieved when R finally arrived. I was in such pain by that stage and the TENs machine given to me by my sister was doing absolutely nothing to take the edge off. 

The taxi ride to the hospital seemed to take a lifetime and by the time we reached the waiting room it was all I could do to get onto all fours in the corner of the room and try not to be sick while we waited to be seen. 

All of the beds were full and there were no midwives available so when we did eventually get seen it was by a doctor who told us that two women had already given birth in the stuffy, sterile assessment room we were now in. This was not what I needed to hear. We were left there for 4 hours while my waters continued to break, my contractions – which were basically on top of each other – got increasingly painful and I was sick into a nappy bag. Not pretty. In the background we could hear another woman screaming in pain as she gave birth. This was a particularly low moment and I wasn’t sure I could go on. 

I just remember saying to R over and over again, ‘there are no gaps between the contractions. Everyone told me there would be gaps!’ I was also begging for any kind of pain relief, and about 4 hours after our arrival I was finally given some codine by a midwife who told me that I needed to move back into the waiting room until I was in ‘proper labour’. With my waters breaking everywhere and writhing in pain we told her that this wasn’t going to happen. Not long after the urge to push came and on second inspection it became apparent that I had reached 8cm dilated – I’d call that pretty ‘proper labour’ thank you very much! 

At this point a bed on the labour ward became available and I was hoisted into a wheelchair to get me upstairs. I couldn’t sit down in the chair, so I lodged myself in sideways and was sick down the corridor as they wheeled me to the ward. Another particularly low moment!

Once on the labour ward our experience totally changed. We had the most wonderful midwife who looked after me so well. I was immediately given gas and air, which made me feel like I was having an out of body experience, making the pain more bearable, and I was hooked up to a monitor for the baby. I tried to stop pushing when the contractions came but I couldn’t and as Florence was in distress they advised that I have an epidural. I had been in so much pain with contractions on top of each other for 7 hours by this point that I would have said yes to anything. I’d always hoped I wouldn’t have to have an epidural, but in the event I was happy with the decision. I’d had my eyes screwed up in pain and body contorted for so long, with the epidural I was able to open my eyes and relax my limbs. With the epidural came a catheter (again something I’d hoped to avoid!) and a cannula with an IV drip. The natural, mobile birth I’d had in the back of my mind had suddenly become very medicalised, but, as long as my baby’s heart rate remained constant, I didn’t care. They also ran a series of blood tests on Floss to check her oxygen. This involved scratching the top of her head to take the blood while she was still in the uterus. Apparently the device used for this didn’t look particularly mummy-friendly, but again I was more concerned about her than me and also chose not to look at what was going on below my waistline! 

I was given 2 hours from that point to dilate to the full 10cm. The epidural dramatically reduced the progress of the labour and by 1am I had only reached 9cm. I was given a further hour to see how it progressed and was put on a hormone drip to help things along. Just after 2am I had reached 10cm and was allowed to push (finally!). But pushing having had an epidural is pretty difficult and Florence was so high that after an hour of trying we hadn’t made enough progress to continue. The doctor, who was also amazing, advised attempting a forceps delivery and failing that an emergency c section. We agreed to follow her advice and I was taken to theatre. R dressed in scrubs so he could come with me.

Because Floss was so high, because her head was tilted to one side and because she was in distress the doctor felt that, after trying with the forceps, an emergency section was necessary. I was given further anaesthetic so that I was numb from the chests down and a screen went up so I couldn’t see beyond my chest.

The anaesthetist did a great job of distracting me during the procedure and it seemed that no sooner had the screen gone up that Floss was in the world crying. I will never forget that sound or the look on R’s face when we heard it! He cut the cord and she was put on my chest while they removed the placenta and sewed me back together. The feeling of being put back together after a c section is so bizarre; the anaesthetist described it as like ‘rummaging in a handbag’! I can’t say that it’s a sensation I ever want to feel again (although I expect many women say that about a vaginal delivery!). 

The epidural left me without any sensation in the lower part of my body for some hours afterwards and even once I had sensation back the c section meant that I couldn’t sit up by myself for several days. I’ve never felt as helpless and vulnerable as in those first hours when everything from the waist down was paralysed and I was catheterised and hooked up to an IV drip and unable to reach over into the cot next to my bed to pick Florence up. There was an awful moment when I was alone with her and she was being sick and because of the cannula in my hand hooked up to the drip I couldn’t reach her and when I pressed the buzzer for help no one came. Likewise, when I was on my own on the postnatal ward overnight, still attached to a drip and unable to lift myself and Floss out of bed after a feed, we ended up just laying there together until a midwife came in at 4am, to find me awake terrified I might fall asleep and let her roll off me. 

Since coming home the experience of giving birth seems more distant and surreal. I was reassured to discover that because I had become fully dilated, Floss had received all of the hormones from me as if she had been born vaginally. Similarly, my milk came in without any issues, which can sometimes fail to happen after a c section. And there has certainly been no question about our bonding; I don’t think I could love a little squidge any more than I love her!

A couple of days after giving birth R asked me if I’d do it again. My answer two weeks on remains as it was then, let’s just wait and see!

On switching paths: from publisher to parent

After a month or so of work getting busier and busier, last week I finally admitted to myself that it was time to take a step back. I had (perhaps naively) hoped that in the lead up to my maternity leave things would slowly quieten down, but instead, there is a renewed sense of urgency about everything. I’ve been burying myself in work, checking emails at all times of day, working late, and without the motivation of running to get me out of the office at lunchtime, skipping my lunch breaks. The kind suggestion of my boss to cut down to four day weeks, combined with an array of midwife and renal appointments, has actually served to make the situation worse as I’m trying to fit more work into less time. And as long as I’m present in the office, there is an expectation that I’m firing on all cylinders as usual, which, if I’m brutally honest with myself, I’m really not.

It was after another sleepless night, followed by a morning thinking about my ‘to do’ list while trying to do yoga, that I decided enough was enough. That day I spoke to boss and we decided that I would finish work a week earlier than originally planned.

Knowing that I had one less week of work, commuting and office stress, and acknowledging that I’ve been struggling, was like an enormous weight being lifted from my shoulders. It also gave me the impetus I needed to start handing over my workload.

I’m lucky that I work in an incredibly supportive environment with the most wonderful colleagues, who have not only put up with my hormonal ups and downs, but who are also willing to take on the burden of additional work that will result in my leaving. I also know that in reality nothing will collapse when I go: books will still be published, rights sold, authors placated.

Taking the work worry out of the equation has also allowed me a little more headspace to think about the actual process of giving birth and my role as a parent. These are things that I realise I’ve been pushing to the corners of my mind, hidden behind work stress, baby admin and body worries.

The NCT and breastfeeding courses, as well as the antenatal class at the hospital have made me realise that my focus has been too much on the fact of my pregnancy – my changing body and my fear of miscarriage – and not enough on my birth plan and the reality of the days, weeks and months that will follow the birth. I think that I’ve spent so long being terrified that I may lose the baby that I haven’t allowed the idea of actually being a mum sink in.

I’m pleased now that I’ve got the time and headspace ahead of me to get to grips with these feelings, to write a birth plan and to start putting strategies in place that will allow me to continue to be a good wife, friend and family member as well as a good mother. And I may also have started compiling a list for some pre-Suze maternity activities: lido swimming and pregnancy yoga anyone?!

Why I’m surprisingly comfortable taking my kit off…

One of the (many) great things about growing up as a swimmer is that I have developed a total lack inhibition when it comes to stripping off in a swimming pool changing room. When you’ve spent years trying to fit in training around school, and as an adult you find yourself squeezing a pool session in during your lunch break, there is little time for prudishness. It’s a clothes off cossie on while trying to catch up with your swimming pals kind of affair, with no thought given to the nudity in between.

This lack of inhibition was something that was drawn to my attention after a swimming session this week. As I confidently flaunted my 30 week pregnant belly and newly formed breasts in the shower before drying myself with my tiny sports towel, the woman next to me was painstakingly manoeuvring into her swimming costume beneath a large bath towel. I felt sad that, in what I regard as a safe, female, sports-focused space, she felt uncomfortable enough to go through the rigmarole (that many of us are familiar with from on-beach changing) of trying to undress while within a towel tent.

This is perhaps a surprising observation, and a touch hypocritical, coming from a woman who can change her work clothes up to four times before leaving the house on a so-called ‘fat day’, and who has spent years battling with issues of body image and confidence. Yet with communal swimming changing, and likewise, when wearing sportswear (often the most unforgiving of the outfit choices), I feel surprisingly body positive and unconcerned about how I may look to those around me.

Reflecting on this on my walk home from the pool I realised that, when it comes to the sporting arena, for me it’s not about how you look but what your body can do, a message propagated by the #sportsbrasquad movement (worth searching on Instagram if you’re not already familiar with this hashtag). While on the beach I may find myself intimidated and in awe of scantily clad bikini beauties, on poolside, even with my giant belly, I don’t bat an eyelid. In fact, it’s in the pool at the moment I feel my most at ease. I’m weightless and can swim almost as well as I could pre-pregnancy, and I feel an even greater sense of smugness when me and my belly do some overtaking. It’s only when I pull myself back onto poolside, and it takes a while to regain my land legs, that that literal enormity of my body is brought back to me.

I’m pleased that I can have this focus on performance over physique in some areas of my life, but I need to work at translating this into the everyday, when I’m in my jeans and not just my joggers. The body critical and comparison games are dangerous and counterproductive ones to play. The question shouldn’t be about how my thigh gap compares to anyone else’s, but rather how well my body is performing at whatever it is that it’s doing, be that running, yoga, swimming, cycling or growing a baby, and whether I’m maximising my health and wellbeing alongside those goals.

I will be focusing on this going forward and until my next, embrace getting your (PE) kit off (and on) and as always, let me know your thoughts on all of the above.

Good run? Well that depends on your definition of good…and run.

Good run?

It’s amazing how two seemingly innocuous words can stir up such a array of emotions. I know when my husband poses this question he is just taking a casual interest in my daily activities, and yet when he asks, for some reason so many feelings – embarrassment, anger, upset and irritation – well up inside me. In my mind I’m shouting, ‘imagine rapidly gaining 2 stone, being constantly hot and breathless, feeling nauseous with acid reflux and needing to pee almost as soon as you’ve been to the toilet, and then try having a good run’, but I usually just smile and say ‘yeah ok’.

Having had two pregnancies in relatively quick succession, and with the toll that this has taken had on my body, I’m struggling to recall the last time I enjoyed a truly good run. There were some relatively decent 10 milers in the autumn last year, when I was starting to feel something like myself again, but that was before the first trimester sickness of the latest pregnancy took hold. At the moment, nine out of every ten runs feels like a struggle for one reason or another – reflux, fatigue, abdominal pain, sore hamstrings, upset stomach, breathlessness, the list goes on – and I can barely run a mile before I need to walk a little. So why persist, you may reasonably ask? The answers are many and various, but it was only while listening to the Running For Real podcast interview with Colin McCourt this week that I really started to deconstruct what exactly it is I’m feeling now when I run, and why it is that I’m continuing in this endeavour.

For those of you unfamiliar with McCourt, he was a GB runner who, after failing to make to Olympic squad in 2012, decided to give up being a professional athlete. He subsequently buried himself in a career in finance, put on quite a lot of weight and gave up running completely. Years later, a bet with friends saw him lacing up his trainers once more, shedding the weight he had gained and going on to run an impressive sub 16 minute 5k.

McCourt’s ethos now is to be transparent about his running and the struggles he has had with his training since returning to the sport, and he is open and honest about the internal conflicts he has had managing his ego during this period. A lot of what he said in the interview really resonated with me. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’re now pretty rubbish at something that you were once ok at, and even harder to let other people see how far you have fallen. One of the most powerful things that McCourt said in the interview was that while you may be worried about a slow run or a bad race performance, the reality is, no one else really cares. I think this important to remember this when massaging a bruised ego after a sub-optimal run.

Although I am still slightly ashamed of my Strava stats at the moment, and while I may need to temporarily change my definition of a ‘good run’, there are still reasons within me that mean that I keep going.

I keep going for that one run out of the ten when I feel something like myself again; for the run that reminds me why I love the sport. It’s never obvious when this ‘good run’ will strike: I could feel great in the morning when I get up but then fade after a few metres on the road, or feel awful on setting out and then find I can keep going for longer than I’d anticipated. So I have to keep going on the off chance I hit that running sweet spot.

I’m also aware that giving birth will be the toughest mental and physical challenge that I’ll ever have to face and I need to prove to myself that I’ve still got the grit to get through something I’m finding difficult. If I can keep my body fit and healthy and force myself out of my comfort zone then this has to set me up, to some degree, to manage the trauma of birth, or at least put me in a better place than if I let myself get overweight and unfit, right?!

I keep running for my general health and the health of my baby. Despite the old school rumours that expectant mothers should basically be bedridden, the NHS, the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists, the National Childbirth Trust and the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence all recommend moderate exercise during pregnancy. This helps to alleviate or reduce the risk of gestational diabetes, pregnancy-induced hypertension, high gestational weight gain, type 2 diabetes and cardiovascular disease.

I run because exercise is good for Suze, because the babies of prenatal exercisers tend to have more efficient hearts than those of non-exercisers, and this higher cardio fitness level seems to last into the childhood years.

I keep running because I’m terrified of becoming horribly overweight. I’m ashamed to admit this, but as I pick up weight so easily and I’m acutely aware that I’m eating more and moving less at the moment, I’m nervous about becoming enormous and not being able to lose the weight post-pregnancy. I know I shouldn’t be so vain as to be worrying about this right now, but I can’t help it, and with more women than ever making the hot pregnant and postpartum body look like the norm, I don’t want to be the one fatty who let themselves go in pregnancy.

I also keep running because right now I can, whereas in a few months time it’s going to get a whole lot harder.

And I keep running because next week I’ve got a Race For Life 5km raising money for Cancer Research and I need to know that I can get round the course and earn my sponsorship money!

To drink or not to drink? It’s not really a question…right?

Like telling yourself you’re on a diet, or that you’re giving up smoking, when you know that you can’t have something it’s amazing how that thing seems to gravitate to the forefront of your mind. In recent weeks that thing for me has been drinking.

Whether it’s a glass of red wine in front of the fire on a chilly winter evening, an Aperol Spritz over game of cards on a lakefront in Italy, a shandy in an English country pub after a long walk, a glass of champagne at a book launch, or a gin and tonic with the girls at the end of a busy week, I’ve come to realise that alcohol plays a part in many elements of my life. Being someone who is invested in a healthy lifestyle this may seem quite surprising and indeed there have been many times – often when training for a particular race, or else the morning after the night before, when I’m trying to drag myself through the day on a mixture of bananas, paracetamol and coffee – when I’ve sworn myself off alcohol. But this is a promise that I’ve been at liberty to rescind at any point, be it a day, week or month or so later, whereas at the moment I’m afforded no such liberty.

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That said, being pregnant has provided a good opportunity to enforce sobriety for a prolonged period. While I know that recommendations vary, and I believe everyone should follow the path that feels most right for them and their baby, I have made the decision not drink at all throughout my pregnancy. If I was mildly concerned to reflect on how integrated into my lifestyle drinking is, I’ve also been comforted to see that I can live a teetotal life. I’ve proven to myself that I can navigate dinner parties, private views, holidays and even the odd wedding or two alcohol free. And five and a half months into my newly found teetotal lifestyle I’ve found myself asking, once the pregnancy is over, will I go back to drinking?

In all honesty, my feelings in this regard have fluctuated wildly. In the early weeks of the pregnancy, the constant ‘morning’ sickness meant that I couldn’t think of anything worse than drinking. This not only made getting through the Christmas and New Year period without the usual lashings of mulled wine and Prosecco much easier, but also saw me thinking how easy a dry future would be. Since the nausea has subsided there have been times when I’ve lamented not having a glass of wine in my hand on a supper date with my husband, or found myself gazing longingly at a newly opened wine bar in town, with the look of a Dickensian pauper child staring into a toy shop window. Later, on these same evenings, I’ve caught the night tube home and, surrounded by vomiting and leery crowds, I have found myself feeling quietly pleased, and often slightly relieved, about my sobriety, and on waking the next morning, have felt so grateful for my clear head and nauseous-free stomach.

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In terms of training, weight loss, sleep quality and avoiding those lack-lustre post-booze days, it would make sense to give up drinking for good. The frustrating thing is at the moment I’m not seeing these benefits as I’m getting larger and slower. And there is something about the social element of sharing a glass of something with my husband or friends that I’m reluctant to relinquish completely.

What this period has made me reflect on is how eminently possible it is to enjoy events without a drink in my hand to counteract my natural introversion. And now I know that I don’t really need a glass of wine to unwind after a killer week – a gym session or run can actually do the job quite nicely.

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While I hope (all being well) we will be wetting the baby’s head with champagne come August, what I hope to return to is a more moderate approach to my alcohol consumption and the freedom and knowledge that I don’t need a glass of anything to enjoy the company of my brilliant friends. Besides, between the lack of sleep and potential breastfeeding that will come from having a new baby, I imagine those nights of inadvertently drinking one too many may be behind me…for a while at least.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Do you drink? Would you give up drinking? How has this impacted on your physical and mental health and athletic performance?

 

On exercise during pregnancy, getting larger and the fear of leaving work

As my last few posts have been interview or podcast based I thought I’d write a quick post to update you on my fitness and pregnancy progress over the past couple of months.

I’m now just over 24 weeks pregnant (or five and a half months for those working in normal time) with a little girl who, for reasons I won’t go into here, we are currently calling Crêpe Suzette. Getting past the 20 week scan was a big relief, and although this revealed an issue with one of Suze’s kidneys, which initially caused us a little shock and upset (her right kidney is multicystic and will never fully develop or function), having seen the specialist and knowing that they will be keeping an eye on how she develops, I am feeling a lot more positive about the prognosis. We are so excited about introducing her into the world and determined that even with one kidney she will be a strong and empowered little lady. Even if she can’t play contact sports such as water polo like her mum, we already have grand plans for her triathlon career!

She is clearly growing at a good pace (she is over a 33cm in length now), and in response my body has been rapidly expanding. Many of my clothes (sports wear included) have now fallen by the wayside and I’m embracing my new (enforced) capsule wardrobe.

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I made a few additions to this last week, investing in a new pair of running leggings – which are sufficiently baggy to see me through for a little longer and sufficiently jazzy to make me want to exercise – and a couple of oversized sports vests, which are a bit more forgiving when surrounded by mirrors in the gym!

In terms of exercise, I’ve been really enjoying going to spinning classes as I feel like I’m getting a pretty killer workout without Suze bouncing around too much. Similarly, I’ve been spending more time in the gym, trading my Sunday long run for a long gym session. When I’m lifting weights I feel strong (not just large) and the cross trainer provides a great low-impact cardio workout. I’m still going to yoga classes and modifying where necessary, and I start each day with 15 to 20 minutes of home practice.

I am still running, although it is becoming increasingly hard work, so it’s nice to have some other options available. I max out at around 5 miles now and I have to intersperse jogging with short periods of walking. I’ve noticed that my calves and hamstrings are a lot tighter and burn a lot more than ever before, which I am putting down to the change in my weight distribution. All the same, I’m determined to keep getting out for as long as I’m still enjoying it, especially now that the weather is improving and the parks are open later in the evening. I’m just really grateful at the moment that I have the time to run as I know this will change come August!

Another wardrobe addition I’ve fallen in love with, this time courtesy of my mum, is my maternity swimsuit. It is the first time ever that I’ve had a non-training/racing suit and instead I’m embracing a cute little polka dot, halter neck number! It took a bit of getting used to pushing off the wall and tumble turning whilst trusting that I was retaining my modesty, but I’m pretty comfortable with it now and I love the looks on people’s faces as I overtake them in my casual cossie with my enormous stomach! When I swim I feel pretty much normal, which is wonderful.

I’m really determined to keep my body moving, not least as it helps with the swollen ankles and ‘pasty feet’ I’ve suddenly started getting as a result of water retention when I sit down for too long. But also, when I exercise I am a better version of myself and a better person to be around. Exercise means that I still feel strong and confident in my body and even at times, dare I say it, sexy.

Although exercising is proving more physically taxing than ever before, it is still such a huge and valuable part of my life I wouldn’t go without it. Even if exercise now means a walk around Green Park at lunchtime rather than a 10k run along the river, I know I’ll always feel better for doing a little bit of something, and it’s still a good way to catch up on a podcast and see some sunshine.
Changes to my body and workout schedule are not the only things I’m having to get used to. At the moment the prospect of taking time away from work is totally terrifying. I love my job and my team so much and I have so many great projects on the go at the moment that it’s impossible to imagine stepping away, even if only for a year. I know that I will only have that first year with Suze once and how important that will be, and I’m sure when the time comes I’ll revel in our time together, but for the time being I feel like I want to cling onto my job tighter than ever, terrified that it won’t be waiting for me on my return.

I’m sure lots of parents-to-be go through all of these emotions. I’m hoping that my inability to control and plan for everything during this period will prove a positive lesson for the future. I’m having to learn to let go a little and go with the flow and, while for now I feel very out of my comfort zone, I hope that it will stand me in good stead for when Suze arrives and I can’t control anything at all!

If you’ve been through a similar experience, or are going through something similar I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Until my next, keep moving.