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322	<div class="containerbody"> <!-- Hero Image --> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Hero%20Image-019NTo96ZosvFyaOttFrtNU43ty1OR.png" alt="Pregnant woman smiling while holding her belly" class="hero-image"> <div class="content"> <!-- Title and Subtitle --> <h1>You're Allowed to Not Love Pregnancy</h1> <h4>Making Peace with Third Trimester Emotions</h4> <!-- Author Section --> <div class="author-section"> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Sierra%20James-jX1z39f3UtfmkaJlYdvecgjyY5EIHh.png" alt="Sierra James" class="author-image"> <div class="author-info"> <h3>Sierra James</h3> <p>Postpartum Support Specialist & Infant Wellness Guide</p> <p>04/30/2025</p> </div> </div> <!-- Article Content --> <p>There's a moment—somewhere between the hip pain, the midnight bathroom runs, and the breathless waddle to the fridge—when it hits you: I'm tired. I'm uncomfortable. And I don't even know if I like this anymore. You might be staring down your swollen feet, scrolling through perfectly curated bump photos online, and thinking, Am I the only one who feels like this?</p> <p>You're not. Not even close.</p> <p>The truth is, the third trimester can feel like emotional whiplash. You're nearing the finish line, and everyone around you seems to expect joy and excitement. But what if what you're actually feeling is... resentful? Anxious? Over it? Society sells pregnancy as this soft-lit journey of glowing cheeks and magical moments. But the final stretch often feels less like a dream—and more like a mental, physical, and emotional marathon. And you know what? That doesn't make you a bad mom. That makes you human.</p> <h2>The Truth About Third Trimester Expectations</h2> <p>By the time you hit the third trimester, people assume you're floating in a bliss bubble. The nursery's done, the baby shower's behind you, and everyone keeps asking if you're "so ready to meet your little one!" They mean well. But under the surface, so many pregnant women are quietly struggling.</p> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%202-VStxsBXvmFKlTz5ti45o3kd6nIVzah.png" alt="Pregnant woman resting in bed" class="article-image"> <p>The third trimester often brings more discomfort than delight. Swollen ankles. Braxton Hicks contractions. Lightning crotch (yes, it's real). Sleep feels like a cruel joke, your belly button's doing things you don't recognize, and your body doesn't feel like your own anymore. Emotionally, the looming unknown of birth and parenthood can stir deep waves of fear, excitement, grief, and confusion—all at once.</p> <p>And when you're expected to stay upbeat through all of that? The pressure can be crushing.</p> <h2>Mixed Emotions Are Normal—And Valid</h2> <p>Let's name it plainly: it's okay to feel conflicted. To say, "I love my baby" and also, "I'm not enjoying this anymore." That emotional complexity doesn't make you weak or ungrateful—it makes you real. Pregnancy isn't just about building a baby. It's about navigating a massive identity shift, often while feeling isolated and stretched (literally and emotionally) beyond anything you've ever known.</p> <p>Hormones are flooding your body. Your sleep cycle is wrecked. Your organs are being shoved to the side to make room for this little human. So if you're feeling moody, short-tempered, weepy, or even numb—it's not just understandable, it's expected. You're not failing at pregnancy. You're moving through it with honesty.</p> <p>Many moms admit it quietly in forums, group texts, or in hushed tones at appointments:</p> <blockquote> "I thought I'd feel more connected."<br> "I'm not enjoying this like I thought I would."<br> "I kind of just want it to be over already." </blockquote> <p>Let that be your reminder—you are far from alone in those feelings.</p> <h2>Guilt, Comparison, and the "Good Pregnant Woman" Myth</h2> <p>There's this unspoken checklist for how a pregnant woman "should" feel:</p> <ul> <li>Grateful (always)</li> <li>Glowing (constantly)</li> <li>Nesting (with a perfect Pinterest-worthy plan)</li> <li>Never complaining (because this is a "blessing")</li> </ul> <p>But let's pause right here: blessings can still be hard. Joy can still come with pain. You can be thankful and still really want this part to be over.</p> <p>Social media doesn't help. You scroll and see bump photos framed in golden-hour light, captioned with "Can't wait to meet you, baby!" And meanwhile, you're holding back tears because your maternity jeans don't fit anymore and the idea of packing a hospital bag feels utterly overwhelming.</p> <p>Here's what matters: Pregnancy is not a performance. You don't have to smile through the struggle. You don't have to live up to an aesthetic. The only thing you owe anyone is your truth.</p> <h2>Reframing the Third Trimester Experience</h2> <p>If you're finding yourself counting down the days—not just with excitement, but with desperation—it's okay to shift how you relate to this season. You don't need to force joy. Instead, try making space for truthful presence.</p> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%201-RFwiqI53ika2SNIgZGyosI1IUkcgas.png" alt="Self-care journal with tea and candle" class="article-image"> <p>Some gentle ways to do this:</p> <ol> <li><strong>Start emotional check-ins.</strong> Each morning or night, ask yourself: "How am I, really?" Name one thing you're feeling without trying to fix it. You can write it down, say it aloud, or even whisper it in the dark.</li> <li><strong>Curate your circle.</strong> Limit time with people who pressure you to be cheerful or dismiss your discomfort. Make room for friends or birthworkers who can say, "Yep, this part is hard. I see you."</li> <li><strong>Give yourself permission to rest without guilt.</strong> That means saying no to things, taking naps in the middle of the day, or letting the to-do list sit. Rest is preparation, not laziness.</li> <li><strong>Practice small grounding rituals.</strong> A warm bath with lavender. Lying down with your hand on your belly and repeating, "This is hard, but I'm doing it." Even five minutes of quiet can create a tiny pocket of peace.</li> </ol> <p>Pregnancy doesn't have to be magical to be meaningful.</p> <h2>You're Not Alone: A Loving Reminder</h2> <p>Mama, your worth is not measured by how happy you feel right now. Your bond with your baby isn't weakened by a tough trimester. You don't need to smile to prove your love.</p> <p>This season is stretching you—literally, spiritually, emotionally. But it is not breaking you. Every ache, every tear, every moment of "I can't do this" is part of your strength, not a sign of weakness.</p> <p>So if you need to say it out loud today:</p> <blockquote> "I'm not loving this right now."<br> "I'm scared."<br> "I'm tired." </blockquote> <p>Let those words rise. Let them be heard. Let them heal.</p> <p>Because mama? You are already loving fiercely. Already growing courageously. Already enough.</p> <p>You're not alone. You never were. And you never will be.</p> </div> </div>	View
321	<div class="containerbody"> <!-- Hero Image - Updated with new image --> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Hero%20Image-nhWH9QJvt2lR4Cro6CCaKPDqjvivk8.png" alt="Pregnant woman reading a book in a rocking chair" class="hero-image"> <div class="content"> <!-- Title and Subtitle --> <h1>Is It Normal to Feel Sad About Not Being Pregnant Anymore?</h1> <h4>Third Trimester Emotions Explained</h4> <!-- Author Section --> <div class="author"> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Taryn%20Lopez-4ud3vIFbPmM070j41ZAacU7HZT3WnC.png" alt="Taryn Lopez" class="author-image"> <div class="author-info"> <h3>Taryn Lopez</h3> <p>Birth Prep Coach & Early Motherhood Mentor</p> <p>04/28/2025</p> </div> </div> <!-- Article Content --> <p>By the time you reach the third trimester, the world expects you to be buzzing with excitement. And of course, you are—there's a tiny human on the way, your body has done something absolutely incredible, and the countdown is real. But if you've also felt a pang of unexpected sadness—grief, even—at the thought of no longer being pregnant... you're far from alone.</p> <p>For some women, this sadness arrives like a whisper during a middle-of-the-night pee break, or it creeps in while folding tiny onesies and imagining the moment their belly becomes just… a belly again. There's something tender, almost sacred, about this stretch of time: the gentle flutters, the curve of your belly beneath your hand, the knowledge that your baby is always with you. And when that bond is about to shift from internal to external, it can feel like something is quietly ending—even as something beautiful begins.</p> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%202-hwTbelHAsbtQtOlfp0manLjQFwoDdJ.png" alt="Pregnant woman meditating in peaceful setting" class="article-image"> <h2>Why This Sadness Is Real—and Valid</h2> <p>It's easy to confuse this feeling with ungratefulness or guilt. But here's the truth: grief and joy are not opposites—they often live side by side. You can be head-over-heels excited to meet your baby and still feel the ache of saying goodbye to this chapter of closeness.</p> <p>Hormonal shifts in the third trimester intensify emotional responses. Estrogen and progesterone levels are peaking, your body is preparing for labor, and your nervous system is heightened. It makes complete sense that your emotions are layered, tender, and sometimes contradictory. You are both blooming and shedding—an old identity, a stage of life, a sacred connection.</p> <h2>What Real Moms Have Shared</h2> <blockquote> "I remember crying while packing my hospital bag. Not because I was scared, but because I realized my baby wouldn't be in me anymore. It felt like we were breaking up… in the sweetest, strangest way." — Briana, mom of 2 </blockquote> <blockquote> "I didn't expect to miss my bump so much. Even though I was exhausted and huge, it was such a unique time where my body felt purposeful in a way I can't describe." — Elena, first-time mom </blockquote> <p>These sentiments are more common than many expectant moms realize. In fact, many who've been through it wish someone had given them permission to feel the both/and of this moment: both grief and gratitude, excitement and uncertainty.</p> <h2>You're Not Just Losing the Bump—You're Transitioning Identity</h2> <p>Pregnancy doesn't just change your body—it shifts your sense of self. You've likely spent months orienting your choices, your language, even your walk around this growing life. To let go of that is a massive emotional adjustment. The transition from being pregnant to being a mom can feel disorienting.</p> <p>There's also the question of control. When baby is in your belly, you know they're fed, warm, safe. Once they arrive, the external world steps in—schedules, visitors, feedings, opinions. There's a comfort in the womb-world that many moms grieve as they prepare for birth.</p> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%201-PFcDlrtTqPnr32tY0teZKquGIMg6fu.png" alt="Journal with 'Dear little one' written on it, with tea and lavender oil" class="article-image"> <h2>How to Honor These Feelings Mindfully</h2> <p>Instead of pushing these emotions away, let them teach you. Here are a few gentle practices to hold space for your sadness:</p> <ul> <li><span class="emoji">🌿</span> <strong>Sit with it, don't fix it</strong><br> When the feelings rise, find a quiet space and breathe into them. Place a hand on your belly, and another on your heart. Say, "This is part of it." Let your body soften around the emotion.</li> <li><span class="emoji">🖋️</span> <strong>Journal a letter to your bump</strong><br> Write as if you're speaking to the life inside you. Express gratitude, fears, memories. This can be a powerful way to mark the transition.</li> <li><span class="emoji">🧘🏽‍♀️</span> <strong>Ground yourself in the present</strong><br> Use sensory cues: warm tea, soft fabric, calm music. These help signal safety to your nervous system when emotions feel overwhelming.</li> <li><span class="emoji">💬</span> <strong>Talk about it with someone who gets it</strong><br> Whether it's a doula, therapist, or fellow mom, voicing your emotions is deeply healing. Connection dissolves isolation.</li> </ul> <h2>There's No "Right" Way to Feel—Only Your Way</h2> <p>Some moms glide into postpartum without a backward glance. Others find themselves mourning the quiet kicks or the sacredness of carrying life. Both experiences are valid. This emotional "goodbye" is a transition, not a problem. It's your body and soul recognizing a threshold—what was, what is, and what's to come.</p> <p>If you're feeling this grief, consider it a sign of how deeply you've loved this chapter. And how deeply you'll love the next.</p> <div class="highlight"> <h2>A Grounded Reminder From Taryn</h2> <p>Breathe in.</p> <p>You are not broken for feeling this way.</p> <p>You are becoming—and all becoming requires letting go.</p> <p>May you walk this bridge between pregnancy and parenthood with grace, tears, and wonder.</p> <p>Your heart knows the way.</p> </div> </div> </div>	View
320	<div class="containerbody"> <!-- Hero Image --> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Hero%20Image-LAtbrXuOJxie9j2zNMR3UfV4zZUOES.png" alt="Woman in bathroom reflecting on postpartum body changes" class="hero-image"> <div class="content"> <!-- Title and Subtitle --> <h1>Your Body Isn't Ruined—It's Rewritten</h1> <h4>Because postpartum doesn't wreck you—it reveals a version of you that's stronger than bounce-back culture ever allowed</h4> <!-- Author Section (CORRECTED) --> <div class="author-section"> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Lexi%20Rivera-hzHcnjCMec1YVroNfdexnKV4wWxToU.png" alt="Lexi Rivera" class="author-image"> <div class="author-info"> <h3>Lexi Rivera</h3> <p>Sleep Strategy Coach & First-Time Mom Humorist</p> <p>Published: October 29, 2024</p> </div> </div> <!-- Article Content --> <p>You're standing in the bathroom, nursing bra half-snapped, towel falling off one boob, staring at a body that feels like it belongs to someone else. Your belly still feels squishy. Your hips are wider. Your skin looks stretched in new places. And even though your baby is finally napping, you're suddenly wide awake with a pit in your stomach—What happened to me?</p> <p>You try to brush it off. You made a human. You're supposed to be proud. But pride and grief can live in the same body, and here you are, caught in the middle—mourning the version of you who used to feel confident, or at least familiar, and wondering if she's ever coming back. You scroll your phone, and BAM—there it is: some influencer holding a latte and a 2-week-old with abs and not a stretch mark in sight. Now you're spiraling. You're not just tired—you feel like you're failing.</p> <p>Can we just pause and say it out loud? This part of motherhood—the "what the hell happened to my body?" stage—is real, raw, and wildly under-discussed. And it's not about vanity. It's about identity, self-worth, grief, and the quiet shame so many of us carry when our outside no longer matches the version of ourselves we remember inside.</p> <h2>Postpartum Body Image Isn't Just Physical—It's Psychological</h2> <p>What most people don't get (unless they've been here) is that postpartum body image isn't about a few pounds or a looser waistband. It's about the dissonance—between who we were, who we thought we'd be, and who we are now. When your body transforms so dramatically, it can feel like your identity just got hijacked, and nobody left you a map back.</p> <p>You're not shallow. You're not selfish. You're human. The way you feel about your body right now is deeply tied to how grounded you feel in your new role, your changing relationships, and your sense of control in a life that feels like it's no longer yours.</p> <p>And the worst part? Society piles on with this unspoken deadline for "getting your body back," as if your worth as a mom and woman hinges on how quickly you erase evidence that you just created a whole entire person.</p> <p><strong>Spoiler alert: You're not a before-and-after photo. You're an evolving masterpiece.</strong></p> <h2>The "I Wasn't Ready" Moment</h2> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%202-FobKt9LKThLcAF1dwPUvMpPApMHDEA.png" alt="Mother holding and nursing her baby in warm, golden light" class="article-image"> <p>Let me give you a scene. I was three weeks postpartum, wearing mesh underwear and a robe that smelled like spit-up and hormonal tears. I bent over to grab a burp cloth and felt my stomach fold into itself like a stack of pancakes. No warning. Just gravity and regret.</p> <p>And I froze. Not because it hurt—but because I didn't recognize myself. This was the first time I really saw what birth had done to my body. My "I wasn't ready" moment came not in the delivery room, but on the bedroom floor, surrounded by diapers and doubts.</p> <p>But here's the thing: That moment wasn't the end of my confidence—it was the beginning of something deeper. I had to rebuild. Not just my core strength, but my self-worth.</p> <h2>You're Not the Only One—You're the Norm</h2> <p>Every mama I know has had some version of that moment. The silent panic. The mirror meltdown. The closet cry when your old jeans don't even make it past your thighs. These moments don't make you vain—they make you honest. And yet we rarely talk about them, because somewhere along the line, we were taught that loving our baby means ignoring our own pain.</p> <p>Let's flip that script. You can adore your baby and still grieve your old body. You can celebrate your strength and still miss your waist. You're allowed to feel all of it.</p> <p><strong>You're not broken—you're transitioning. And that is sacred.</strong></p> <h2>Let's Talk About Identity Shift (aka Why You Feel Like a Stranger)</h2> <p>Here's what psychologists call this phase: <strong>matrescence</strong>—the process of becoming a mother. Just like adolescence, it's messy, hormonal, identity-shifting terrain. But unlike puberty, nobody talks about how wild it is.</p> <p>Your brain is recalibrating. Your hormones are crashing. Your routines, priorities, and even friendships are changing. So when your body stops looking like "you," it adds to the emotional soup.</p> <p>This isn't just a physical journey—it's a psychological one. And your body becomes the canvas where all that internal change is being projected.</p> <h2>Okay, So What Do I Do When I Hate My Reflection?</h2> <p>First: You don't have to fake love for every part of your body right now. Body positivity is great, but body neutrality is a good place to start. You don't need to adore your stretch marks to honor what they represent.</p> <p>Here's what helped me (and other moms who've been in the fog):</p> <img src="https://hebbkx1anhila5yf.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/Image%201-rdqAbLjfncUYPNqvBxK87FvOMUBsmR.png" alt="Postpartum essentials laid out including mesh underwear, tiny wins note, mascara, coffee and phone" class="article-image"> <ul class="emoji-list"> <li><strong>Ditch the "Someday" Clothes</strong><br>Nothing kills confidence faster than a drawer full of pants that don't fit. Box them up. Give yourself permission to dress for today, not for some imaginary finish line.</li> <li><strong>Rewire Your Self-Talk</strong><br>If you wouldn't say it to your best friend (or your daughter!), don't say it to yourself. Start with: "My body is healing. My worth is not measured in inches."</li> <li><strong>Move for Joy, Not Punishment</strong><br>Put down the bootcamp flyer. Try dancing, walking, stretching, or just rolling around on the floor with your baby. Reconnect with movement that feels good, not like penance.</li> <li><strong>Curate Your Feed</strong><br>Unfollow anyone who makes you feel "less than." Follow bodies that look like yours, people speaking truth, and moms who aren't airbrushed.</li> <li><strong>Set Tiny Wins</strong><br>Maybe today it's wearing mascara. Maybe tomorrow it's taking a full shower. Maybe next week it's trying on a new outfit. These micro-wins build momentum and self-esteem.</li> </ul> <h2>You Deserve to Take Up Space—In Every Way</h2> <p>Let me say this loud for the mom in the back still hiding behind the stroller:</p> <blockquote> You are still beautiful. You are still whole. And you are more than the skin you're in. </blockquote> <p>You don't need to bounce back. You're allowed to expand—literally and emotionally.</p> <p>Because your body? It didn't ruin you. It rewrote you into a stronger, more capable, more nuanced version of yourself. One who can feel joy and rage, beauty and loss, softness and strength—sometimes all in the same hour.</p> <h2>Final Thought: Let's Make Room for Real Bodies</h2> <p>If this blog does one thing, I hope it gives you permission—to feel, to grieve, to rebuild, and to own this new chapter. Because when we stop judging ourselves and start telling the truth, we create space for other mamas to breathe.</p> <p>So post the photo. Wear the bikini. Talk about the pouch. Celebrate the scar.</p> <p>You didn't lose yourself—you grew into someone more powerful.</p> <p>We got this 💪✨</p> </div> </div>	View

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