Pampering While Pregnant

So one of my favorite methods of relaxation is getting pampered. Not that I do it very often, but every once in awhile, I love to go get a pedicure with girlfriends, or get my hair done, get a massage, or if I really splurge--a facial.

Well, throughout my pregnancy I continued my R&R ritual, although many of the experiences did NOT turn out as I had hoped or anticipated. Many so-called relaxation experiences actually turned out so utterly ridiculous it became comical. So nevertheless, I have decided I need to blog about the reality of being pampered while pregnant. If nothing else, to inform future moms-to-be or even to remind me when I'm pregnant again (which will definitely not be for awhile!). So here we go:

Nails: Ah, getting my nails done. I love the feeling of getting a pedicure and having my toenails covered with a new, fresh coat of polish, and my feet to feel smooth. And seriously, what better way to relax than having someone massage your feet? LOVE it. Well, throughout this pregnancy I've had I think 3 different pedicures, and each time, my experience goes something like this: I walk through the door and immediately smell the strong scent of nail polish and remover, and whatever other chemicals the salons use. "Am I killing my child?" is the first thought that rushes through my mind and seems to park itself in my brain. Subconsciously, I start breathing into my sleeve or hand and doing whatever I can to avoid taking in a big gulp of not-so-fresh salon air. And as my feet are being massaged (which again, I normally LOVE), I think to myself, "They had better avoid that spot on my heel that I know is a pressure point that can induce labor." If they happen to somehow even SKIM my heel, I feel a rush of adrenaline. And disappointingly, I end up leaving wondering if the whole experience was worth it.

Hair: So the warning in all the pregnancy books is this, "Check with your practitioner--you'll likely get the green light." So being a prudent person, I did exactly that and checked with my practitioner. And he said, to my chagrin, "Most likely it's fine, but knowing your personality (the guy can read my anxious personality like a book), if you did get your hair done and anything were to happen, you would put a lot of blame on yourself, so you may want to avoid it." He didn't tell me I couldn't, per se, but gave me enough of a complex that I've only had my hair colored once during the pregnancy. And that one time, my experience pretty much mirrored my pedicure experiences (see above): Walking in and smelling the strong chemicals, thoughts pouring into my mind of how I'm giving cancer or ADHD or who knows what to my unborn child, having my hair stylist simply touch up the roots, and getting out of there as fast as I could. Not my fave.

Facial: Ah, the memory of the one and only time I got a facial, which was over the Thanksgiving break with my sister. Mind you, by that point, I was 7 months pregnant, but what better way to spend some quality sister time than to go get a facial? How can one go wrong with a facial, anyway? Well, we went to an Aveda Beauty School (first red flag: beauty school! Hello, at beauty school there are 19-year-old girls who have NEVER been pregnant working on you! BAD idea). The girl takes me back to a small room with a flat table and gives me the normal instructions to lie down on the table. I take one look at the very flat table and ask, "Do you have any wedges or padding or anything for pregnant women?" The 19-year-old stares at me blankly and shakes her head.

Already, I'm sensing this was a bad idea. "Maybe a pillow?" I ask bleakly. The 19-year-old perks up and rushes off to get me a pillow. She returns with a small pillow, at which point I finally lie down on the table and wedge the pillow behind my head. The 19-year-old rushes off to mix up the formula (...which could cause cancer, ADHD, elephant disease, who knows?!) and returns 20 minutes (20 MINUTES! Not 5! 20!) later.

By that point, my lower back is killing me so I have rolled over to my side. "Um, do you think it's possible to work on me in this position?" I ask hopefully. She looks at me like I'm the biggest idiot in the world and shakes her head. Dang it. "Hmm...can you maybe find a couple more pillows?" I retort. She rushes off again and is gone for what at this point SEEMS like another 20 minutes, although it probably was only 3. By the time she returns and I shove them under my knees, I am truly wishing I were courageous enough to just walk out and leave, but being a wimp and not wanting to cause a scene, I remain. Besides, by then I didn't know if I COULD get up.

So I painfully and regretfully lay through the remainder of the facial. Normally I LOVE the different coats they paint on your face (though this time I was convinced the first coat was giving my unborn child cancer, the second coat ADHD, the third coat elephant disease, and so forth...). The only pleasant thought rushing through my mind was, "Well, at least since this is a beauty school I will be able to evaluate this girl at the end and let the school know they NEED something for us pregnant chics." But of course, when the end finally came and the 19-year-old scooted me to the check out counter, no one asked me to provide an evaluation of any sort, and again, being the wimp that I am, I didn't dare tell the lady at the check out (also 19, I might add).

Moral of the story: I will NEVER get a facial while pregnant. Bad, bad, bad idea, and very bad for the back.

Massage: Okay thankfully, unlike hair, nails, or facials, massages are chemical free and I KNOW places offer pre-natal massages. Getting a massage HAD to be a nice R&R technique for a pregnant lady, right? Well, massage #1 (at 4 months along), I went to a nice massage place for a pre-natal massage. The woman escorts me back to the room and has me lay on a table with foam wedges and instructs me to lie on my stomach. "Lie on my stomach?" I repeat, unconvinced. After all, that is where my small, ever-growing baby is perched. "Yes, on your stomach" she confirms. So I do as she asks, and while the massage WAS really nice and it actually felt GREAT to lie on my stomach, again unwanted thoughts of me killing my child rushed through my mind. "What if I'm squishing her in this position?" I asked myself probably a dozen times. And once again, when the time was up, I was secretly relieved.

Massage #2 was at a massage school (again, red flag: massage school! School = young students who have never been pregnant and who may have never even worked on a pregnant woman before). This one, of course, I have at 38 weeks, so I'm pretty far along and pretty uncomfortable nearly all of the time. And let's just say I was REALLY looking forward to this massage. The 19-year-old (sorry, everyone in today's post is 19. That might not be their real ages and trust me I do love 19-year-olds, so really I'm just using 19 to illustrate my point) takes me back to the little, curtained off room where I am surprised to see different-shaped wedges than massage #1, and several more. She explains to me what I am to do, "Okay, put your head here, face that way, put your bottom leg on this one and your top leg on this one and there are a couple of divots here and here." Pretending to understand but not really having a clue, I nod, and my little 19-year-old disappears while I attempt to get on this wedge-maze-of-a-table. Well of course, no matter what position I contort my body, I cannot find a position that feels like it is the one I'm supposed to be in, not to mention one I can endure for an hour-long massage.

My 19-year-old returns and I am beneath the blankets (to be modest, of course) but warn her that I am teetering on the edge of the bed and could fall off at any second. I ask her for help and she and I spend at least 7 minutes trying to shift me into a position that's workable, all the while keeping me beneath the sheets so I remain decent. It was tricky. When I arrive into the most workable position possible, my head is pillow-less, and she retreats to find me one. While she's gone, I struggle to fight back tears. "Why do I keep doing this to myself?" I ask myself. "Why didn't I just wait until a few weeks after baby is here to do something like this?" NOT fun. She returns with a pillow in hand, and I feel a little better with that. And after about 20 minutes when I'm flipped (yes, getting a massage is a bit like being a hot dog on a roaster), I thankfully arrive at a MUCH more comfortable position, and finish off the massage actually getting what I wanted: a bit of R&R. But even despite that, when the time is up, I'm not disappointed. I sort myself out and meet Boyce in the lobby. "How was it?" he asks, grinning. "It sounds like you were struggling." I'm now at a point where I can laugh about it. "Oh honey," I tell him. "I'm just going to have to blog about getting pampered while pregnant."

And thus, here you go. Take it or leave it. These are just my experiences, after all. :)