Now that I am pregnant again, I am trying to do certain things better/different this time around. For one, I have absolutely, definitely decided that I WILL NOT gain 60 pounds during this pregnancy. That’s right. I gained 60 pounds with the Mountain Child. I weighed as much as my husband when it was all said and done. I would step on the scale, and we would both marvel at the hugeness of the number. It was like it wasn’t even real, so I could therefore have another strawberry milkshake if I wanted. Which, by the way, I needed them so badly I would routinely leave work and go get one. Chick-Fil-A had such delicious ones that the employees would just get the thing ready as soon as they saw my car pull up to the drive-through.
Come to think of it, I was pretty much hungry for whatever I could get my hands on all of the time. And if I didn’t get food RIGHT AT THE EXACT MOMENT that I decided that I was hungry, I was angry. Yes, very, very angry indeed. Two of my dearest friends know and understand what this was like all too well. I venture that they still need a bit of therapy each time they recall the time we were in Chicago for a school counseling conference. We were all excited to be able to eat our way through that town. I am surprised that we somehow squeezed in some of the educational sessions. Anyhow, one morning we set out to check out a little breakfast place that was supposed to be really good. We bounced out the door, me forgetting that I needed something to eat before I attempted to walk several blocks on an empty stomach. By the time that we arrived at this little café, it was clear from the line that most of the Chicago Metro Area also had the same breakfast plans. Perhaps I am exaggerating a little. But if you were as hungry as I was at the time, it wouldn’t have mattered. One person in front of you is just too much to bear when you smell eggs and bacon.
Anyway, I was pissed. How DARE they make a PREGNANT WOMAN wait like this? Doesn’t anyone care?? I hate you, Chicago!!!! I walked five blocks for this crap?!? Someone bring me a muffin RIGHT NOW!!!!!! I was becoming unglued and the walls were starting to close in on me.
My friends tried to calm me down. One of them helpfully added that I needed to bring snacks with me so I wouldn’t feel this way. I then told her to shove that advice straight up her ass. There was a tense silence among us at that point. I can’t imagine why. I almost started crying because I hated everyone in the entire world right then and no one cared.
It was at this moment that a kind-hearted elderly lady tried to offer me a mint. “Here, dear. I remember mints settled my stomach when I was pregnant.” I looked distastefully at the mint as if she just tried to offer me dog feces and said, “I DON’T NEED A MINT. I NEED FOOD.” The lady looked at me and then to my friends as if to say, Good luck with that piece of work. My friends then chastised me for being so rude. I felt that it was an insult to offer a starving pregnant lady a crappy mint when what she clearly needed was a comfortable chair, toast, and some sort of meat—QUICKLY. Actually, she was lucky I didn’t punch her in the face.
Mercifully, our seats became available and we all settled into breakfast. I happily tore into my order, which was, of course, half the menu. I was so jolly about how delicious the food was that I had completely forgotten what a sociopath I was about twenty minutes earlier. My friends, however, were still horrified at my behavior and didn’t say much during the whole breakfast. Not that I noticed. I was too busy scarfing down eggs benedict and hash browns.
Anyhow, that was then. I made a very conscious decision that I could not allow that to happen to me again. It took me over a year to get off all that weight. Besides, I don’t have too many friends here in the Hills, so I need to mind my behavior. And so far, I have been a bit more normal. Up until my third trimester, I only gained 19 pounds. Up until the third trimester is the key thing to remember. It is a sick coincidence that my third trimester fell during Halloween, which then landslides into Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s hopeless, really.
I am not proud of it, but I stole almost all of Mountain Child’s Halloween candy. At least the good stuff. And the saddest part is that my daughter is smart enough to know that I am taking her stash and that means that I have to lie to her.
Mommy, are you eating MY Halloween candy?
No, sweetie, this is my candy.
NO, IT’S NOT! THAT WAS IN MY TRICK OR TREAT PUMPKIN! GIVE IT BACK!!!!!
This is my treat. You have your own. Now go and play.
Mommy, that is MY chocolate! I WANT MY CHOCOLATE!!!!! She runs to her room and cries. And I continue eating that delicious Twix bar. She shouldn’t be eating this junk anyway.
My doctor assured me that I would not gain nearly as much weight this time, but I am pretty sure that he hasn’t taken into account the amount of chocolate that kids get in their Trick or Treat haul or my obvious commitment to protecting my daughter from childhood obesity.
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