Surfing Through Pregnancy

I thought I’d be surfing right up until the baby was born. In my mind I’d be one of those pregnant water women that navigated a bump by knee paddling a longboard, proudly sharing the waves with my unborn child. In reality, wetsuits for pregnant ladies don’t exist, I can hardly pull my socks on, let alone bend down to do up a leash, and the winter seas of Cornwall are truly unappealing to me right now. It’s such a strange feeling, previous winters I’ve swam in a swimsuit right through the coldest months, and surfed all over Cornwall and Devon whenever the conditions allowed. My first article for Magic Seaweed was about winter road trips, hunting for waves amongst the storms with the girls. Now it has to be one of those rare, gloriously sunny winter days, without a breath of wind, for me to even miss the ocean at all. I’m so surprised at how the hormones and changes in my body have turned me into what seems like an entirely different person. I barely feel the call for somewhere that once felt like home.

The first trimester was tough. We were living in a van during the stunning (savage) heatwave of August 2022. There were perfect logging waves, clear waters, blazing sunshine and beach barbecues for days. I spent the entire time throwing up in the hedge. My wetsuits lay over the fence, crispy and unused. I’d occasionally stumble down to the shoreline for a dip, but mostly I lay around in the back of the van, feeling immensely sorry for myself and avoiding the friends asking if I wanted to go for a surf.

Autumn descended and the sickness passed. The gentle swells still lapped at our shores and I ventured out for the occasional slide. My pride and joy, a super thinly-glassed, narrow-tailed, pink mid-length single fin, shaped by Diplock, was beginning to sink under my ever-fluctuating weight. The wetsuit around my neck made me gag. My body was so tired, partly due to my lack of exercise, party because it was working incredibly hard to create a little human in my tummy. Every hold-down brought up waves of nausea. A remotely unfriendly comment from anyone in the line-up and I’d cry. But I still wasn’t ready to give it up.

At around four months pregnant I was walking the dogs with a friend and her toddler. Rounding the corner at our local I saw the conditions had aligned, and I hadn’t even thought to check the charts. Low tide, long lefts, morning light, an empty lineup.

A quick cup of tea later and I was racing down the road to catch the tide. I was at that wonderful early second trimester stage where you actually feel yourself again, you have a little bump to show for all your hard work, and your wetsuit still fits. I jumped into the rip and joined the four people who had also spotted the perfect window of opportunity. A friend was out, stealing an hour over a lunch break, and another woman too, who told me her husband was on the beach with their newborn. A light south-westerly was holding up 3 feet of tumbling waves, happily rolling through the bay, breaking on the deep rocks at the south end and reeling their way into the shallow rip on the other side of the small beach. A notoriously friendly spot, we each took it in turns, dropping into fun, long walls, enjoying the show from the rip as we paddled back out again. I lucked out on a long left that opened up before me all the way to the beach, sliding down the face on my midlength with one arm outstretched and the other happily cradling my little bump. The wave ran all the way to the inside, where I jumped off onto the sand. My friend whooped as I re-joined the small crew out back, “and with a bun in the oven!” he shouted over to me. I was beaming, if not feeling slightly nauseous.

I had a few more, took a set on the head, and started to feel a familiar anxiety wash over me - was I being silly? How safe was the baby in my belly? I had always decided against busy lineups during pregnancy, the thought of foamies and longboards flying towards me was terrifying, but even when it was this quiet, should I be being more careful? As is common with fellow women in the water, I got chatting to the (only) other girl out there. She explained about surfing during her own pregnancy, how she’d been through multiple losses before this baby, yet she still surfed fearlessly, even when her family thought she was mad. I told her about my anxieties, and she told me that she was a medical professional, and at this point in pregnancy the baby is incredibly safe and more protected inside the womb than you’d believe. She told me that if I felt comfortable in my own abilities and I was having fun, keeping active, taking precautions and feeling happy, the health benefits for my baby were enormous. Checking her watch she told me it was feeding time for her little girl, who’s name meant ‘island’ in Gaelic. One more wave and she was gone, but her words have stayed with me for my whole pregnancy.

Most surfing expecting mothers eventually make a call on when/ if they’re going to stop surfing. Whether they’ll be out of the game for days, months or years is pure preference. Some stop instantly, an internal instinct telling them to wait until after the baby is born, the waves will still be there. Others surf right up until their due date, wearing bigger wetsuits, surfing longer boards, choosing conditions they feel comfortable in. There is no right or wrong, no should or shouldn’t. It’s a completely unique decision for every mother-to-be, weighing up how comfortable you feel both physically and mentally, and a choice that can’t be made (and shouldn’t be influenced) by others (except your midwife/ doctor). I wasn’t sure when I would stop surfing, but the decision came to me from within, my unconscious mind deciding before my brain caught up.

My last surf of pregnancy was at the end of my second trimester, 5 months in, 4 months to the day before my predicted due date. My sister text me saying she was heading down to Watergate for a dawny, and I was already on my way down to meet the girls. It was the 30th November. My windscreen was frosted over. A half moon hung in the dusty dawn sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. The sun was yet to reach the north coast. The car park was already filling up - the promise of glassy, offshore waves was enough to get everyone and his dog out of bed. This time my wetsuit was a real squeeze over my tummy, and I tucked her in carefully, silently apologising for how cold we were about to get. It was my first time wearing boots that winter, and I prayed the sun would rise quickly to keep my hands and face warm.

I didn’t feel myself at all as I paddled out alongside my friends and sister. Breathing restricted, energy limited, nipples chaffing like hell, board unhappily handling the extra 1kg I was packing. Above all, I could really feel my baby, squashed in my tummy against the hard surface of my board. I was incredibly uncomfortable, wriggling up and down to take some pressure off my stomach, but it was impossible. After eventually reaching the girls outback I sat and watched them taking off and scoring sparkling bombs in the morning sunshine. There wasn’t a breath of wind, the conditions were perfect, they were loving it. But no matter how hard I tried I could hardly paddle, and when I did catch something my balance was completely off. My movement was limited by my pre-pregnancy wetsuit, and I didn’t stand a chance of battling against the crowds. I felt cold and squashed and however beautiful it was, and even though I was having fun, I accepted that this wasn’t where I belonged any more. The sea would have to take a back seat for the time being.

With the baby due next month and getting bigger by the day, surfing feels like a distant memory. I feel lucky to have graciously accepted what is right for me in this moment (even though I did have a little jealous cry last weekend when everyone else was enjoying the super sunny run of swell). I still keep an eye on the charts, and want to know where people are surfing so I can go along. I’m finding loads of enjoyment in ambling along the cliff tops, wave watching and mind surfing. I’ve suffered a lot with anxiety through pregnancy, and something that never fails to make me feel better is a walk by the coast or through the fields, where nature is abundant and my mind is calmer. Although I miss the act of meeting friends, diving in, seeing the world from the water, flying along faces and the quiet beneath the surface, I feel at peace with listening to my body, soaking up the winter sunshine and staying deliciously snuggled up in loads of layers, walking my dog on the beach. I know I’ll be back in the water as soon as I’m ready, and I’m excited to share that huge, blue, beautiful part of my life with my daughter.

If I had to pass some advice on to surfing mothers-to-be I’d say, firstly, every pregnancy and body is different. If your doctor or midwife has classed your pregnancy as high-risk, then it’s important to heed their advice about what is and isn’t safe for you to do. However, if you feel confident and comfortable in the water, and your pregnancy is considered low-risk, then just make sure you listen to your body. By being intuitive you’ll make the right decision, whether that’s continuing to surf, settling into swimming, or standing on the shoreline. Don’t push yourself, take care and trust that you know your body and your mind. The ocean will always be there for you, whether it’s tomorrow, in a few months, or years down the line. She waits.

Photo by Tom Vaughan for Surfline