Alright, so there I was, properly pregnant. You know, the stage where tying your own shoes feels like an Olympic sport. And wouldn’t you know it, winter decided to hit us hard that year. We’re talking snowpocalypse levels, or at least it felt like it when you’re carrying an extra human.
My car was buried. The walkway? Non-existent. And my partner, bless his heart, was stuck at work, delayed by the same snow. So, the thought pops into my head: “Can I even shovel this mess?” I mean, I’m usually the get-it-done type. A bit of snow never scared me before.
My Big Shoveling Debate
So, I stood there, looking out the window, having a full-on debate with myself. Part of me was like, “It’s just a bit of shoveling, take it slow.” But then the other part, the more sensible, pregnant part, was screaming, “Are you nuts?! What about the twisting? The lifting?” I didn’t exactly have my doctor on speed dial for every little thing, and honestly, Googling just gives you a million conflicting answers, enough to make your head spin.
I remembered my mom saying something ages ago about not lifting heavy stuff, but this was… snow. Fluffy, right? Well, wet, heavy, fluffy snow.
- Concern one: The sheer weight. Even a “light” shovel full starts to add up.
- Concern two: The twisting motion. My back already felt like a pretzel some days.
- Concern three: Slipping. The last thing I needed was a fall.
I actually bundled up. Put on my boots, my hat, the whole nine yards. I got out there, shovel in hand. I figured, “Okay, just a tiny bit. Just clear a path to the mailbox.” I scooped up one, maybe two, shovelfuls. And boy, oh boy. My body immediately said, “Nope. Not happening.”
It wasn’t even about being out of breath, though that happened fast. It was this deep pull, a strain in my lower belly and back that just felt… wrong. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but a clear signal from my body that this was a bad idea. Like, a flashing red light, siren-wailing kind of signal.
The Verdict from My Own Two Feet (and aching back)
I dropped that shovel like it was on fire. Went back inside, made a cup of tea, and decided the car could stay snowed in. The world wouldn’t end. My partner eventually got home and, seeing my pathetic attempt (two cleared patches the size of dinner plates), took over. He didn’t even complain, which, honestly, was a miracle.
So, “can you shovel while pregnant?” For me, that was a resounding “better not.” Maybe some super-fit pregnant folks can manage a little light dusting. But for this regular, increasingly round human, it was a clear no-go. My body just wasn’t having any of it. And you know what? Listening to that feeling was probably the smartest thing I did all winter. Sometimes, just accepting your temporary limits is the way to go. No shame in it. The snow will melt, or someone else will eventually shovel it. That baby, though, needs you to be sensible.
