Well, in principle, no complaints. I understood the idea well. If I stop all physical activity (even walking to the bakery), I will gain too much weight, risk the Constipation and heavy legs, lack of oxygen and muscles to give birth and incidentally feel very limp from not getting out of my metro / work / sleep (/ choco).
So I really tried to get started (or, more accurately, not to do even less than usual!). So I kept in my diary the little note that said every week, dance (from 20 pm to 22 pm on Wednesday evening) and I thought, naive that I am, that of course I was going to continue… I held two good weeks. That is to say two dance classes where I had the fishing and secretly scrutinized my figure in the mirror.
Last but not least, my attempt to attend a prenatal yoga class. After finding a workshop open to pregnant women less than 15 km from my suburb, I heroically waxed my calves (big stretch, waxing calves pregnant!) and tested the positions of “tiger in love”, “blooming baby”, “grumpy snake”, on a Friday evening at 19:15 p.m., after the crazy day of work-shopping-children to recover. My eldest, crouching in a corner of the room, was obliged to draw noiselessly for an hour. And me to force myself to believe that this session had relaxed me… Despite the rain. Traffic jams. The cramp after three movements. And on the way home, the binge of chocolate with hazelnuts, comfortably coiled in the sofa and the arms of my lover. “Eat more, move better”, was that the principle?
On the third Wednesday, I was moaning in the back of my bed, chewing on raw carrots to get over my nausea, unable to pack my things to leave. The fatigue the first few months overwhelmed me so much that I had to wait for the fourth month to have enough energy to deprogram the alert on my agenda. My index finger made a nice beat to press “delete”. First notorious effort of this sporty pregnancy!
But that was before the sprints to catch my bus while holding the bottle… and especially the holidays in the snow… A spectacular regain of shape even allowed me to walk three times for two hours in the snow in polar temperatures. Too bad I felt compelled to celebrate with a brioche for 8 people every morning, and a packet of choco tarts every night! And that some observers made me feel more guilty about the risks of falling in the mountains!