Before pregnancy, I was no stranger to exhaustion. I’d powered through college exams on energy drinks and leftover pizza. I’d worked jobs that demanded long hours and late nights. I’d done the “just one more episode” binge-watch that turned into 3 a.m. regret. I had earned the right to call myself a tired person.
But then, the third trimester hit me like a weighted blanket soaked in concrete.
The Sleep That Doesn’t Come
Let’s start with sleep—or rather, the beautiful memory of it. Because sleep in the third trimester is a tease. You lie down, fully convinced you’ll drift off. You’ve built your fortress of pregnancy pillows, your back is supported, legs propped, humidity controlled. But five minutes later, it starts: the discomfort, the restlessness, the internal heater turning on full blast. And if that doesn’t keep you awake, the circus act happening in your belly will.
It’s like the baby got their own subscription to a late-night jazzercise class.
And then, just when you find a spot that’s almost comfortable, your bladder throws a tantrum. “We need to go. Right now.” Even though you just went. Twice.
Walking? More Like Navigating a Puzzle
By this stage, walking had become a strategic mission. I didn’t just walk—I waddled with intention. Every turn of my body required planning. Getting out of bed felt like trying to do a sit-up with a backpack full of bricks strapped to my front.
There were days I’d pause halfway through the living room and ask myself if it was really worth the effort to reach the kitchen. (Spoiler: it usually was. Snacks were there.)
And don’t even get me started on stairs. I once seriously considered scooting up them on all fours like a toddler. If nobody was around to see it, did it really happen?
The Foggy Brain
There’s a particular brand of forgetfulness that shows up during late pregnancy. I call it the “I-swear-I-was-doing-something” syndrome. I’d walk into a room with full confidence and purpose, then freeze. Was I looking for my phone? A snack? Did I just come in here to exist?
One time, I placed the TV remote in the fridge and spent 30 minutes looking for it. I started doubting myself entirely. At some point, I accepted that this version of me would just have to write things down—and then try not to forget where I left the list.
Everything Takes Longer Than It Should
Simple tasks transformed into full-blown events. Taking a shower? That was a workout. Shaving? Practically an Olympic sport. Putting on socks? Don’t even try to do it without help unless you want to accidentally roll over and nap on the floor.
Cooking dinner? If I made it through boiling pasta without needing a break, it felt like a small victory.
Emotional Gymnastics on Top of It All
The emotional exhaustion added another layer. I was weepy over random commercials, slightly irritable over sounds that never used to bother me, and sensitive to people’s well-meaning but constant “You must be due any day now!” comments.
I wanted to respond, “Nope, just growing a watermelon and trying to stay vertical. Thanks for noticing.”
The Invisible Job My Body Was Doing
Despite the tiredness, there was a quiet sense of awe that kept showing up in the middle of it all. My body—this tired, bloated, occasionally cranky body—was doing something miraculous. Without any conscious input from me, it was forming bones, eyelashes, tiny toes. It was shaping a person I hadn’t even met yet, but already loved so fiercely.
And that thought alone gave me the strength to keep going, even when I felt like a sleep-deprived penguin navigating an obstacle course.
Finding Humor in the Madness
Honestly, laughing at the absurdity of it all was what kept me sane. Like the time I got stuck in a recliner and had to call my partner for a “rescue mission.” Or when I tried to shave my legs blindly and ended up giving myself what can only be described as “abstract art.”
Pregnancy, especially the third trimester, has a way of humbling you. You go from being a superwoman in the second trimester to wondering if you’ll ever see your feet again.
You’re Not Alone in the Exhaustion
If you’re reading this from the depths of your third trimester fatigue, please know—you’re not alone. That heavy, slow, foggy, forgetful, waddling version of you is also powerful beyond measure. You are creating life. Of course you’re tired.
So nap unapologetically. Accept help. Eat the thing. Cry if you need to. And give yourself grace. This kind of tired is temporary—and strangely beautiful in its own messy way.
Because soon, you’ll meet the little person behind all those kicks and hiccups. And while the tired won’t go away (hello, newborn nights), it’ll be wrapped in a whole new kind of love.
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