Weight Watching...

Okay, so I’m a little bit frustrated lately. I am uncontrollably gaining wait; too much according to my doctor. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do… I could abide by the strictest diet every single day with the greatest of dedication and still pack on the pounds like nobody’s business. I’ve never been one to have to worry about my weight so this is very upsetting. Before I get too far, let me point out that on the right-hand side of your screen there is now a weight-gain poll. Please vote... Don't worry; your ballot will remain anonymous.

Last week was the official bi-weekly weigh-in at work. We've done this since my eighth week of pregnancy. I literally slip my heels off and stand on the shipping scale. This held some entertainment value for me at first and it certainly entertained my 20-year-old coworker, Mikey, who has the responsibility of determining the result each time, but lately, I’ve been dreading it.

Anyway, I recently noticed that most of my maternity pants have a tag that says “STRETCH” on the inside... just like that, in all caps. How rude! When I read it, I hear the word in my head spoken as if one was straining to get the single syllable out. I really don't need to be reminded on a daily basis that STRETCHING the fabric is the only way a material will fit around my fat ass! You’d think that the makers of maternity clothing would be much more delicate with such matters. And they’re not the only ones… as mentioned in a previous post, Chris has become quite fond of making fat jokes but really, he’s not the only one. Sometimes they’re clever and that’s okay, I don’t mind those. I even make fun of myself sometimes. My absolute favorite joke to make out of it is stomping around the bedroom in my bra and panties, hunched over, pointing at my oversized stomach, doing my best Fat Bastard impression (from the movie, Austin Powers); “Get in my belly! I eat babies!!” That one always makes me laugh. I like to stand in the mirror and do it so I can entertain myself. It’s about the only time that I can smile at the body shape reflected back at me.

Now, even if I avoid all mirrors and try not to look down, there’s one person who will not let me escape the thought of my extra weight; my doctor. Fortunately for me, last week was a double whammy because I also got to meet with her, after weighing in at work. And even if I turn around and don’t face the scale while the nurse weighs me and I even go as far as to threaten the young woman's life if she dare call out the number, my doctor will certainly enter the exam room with this to be the first bit of news that she delivers. She’ll not only give me the overall number, she’ll tell me how many pounds I’ve gained since my last visit. During one very disturbing appointment earlier on in the pregnancy, I was joined by Chris. She scolded me about my weight gain and doubled the daily exercise she'd previously prescribed as if she was giving me some sort of penalty round. She also eliminated fruit juice from my diet (that’s a whole other gripe). I felt about an inch tall as I sat on that exam table. Chris was no help. Already concerned about my nutritional intake, he leaned into her, so very interested in receiving more ammunition; more ways to make me miserable. “And should she be eating this? And how often should she do that?”

On a side note, let me just tell you that I’ve been experimenting on the bathroom scale in an attempt to find a position that would actually make it look like I weigh less than I do. Now, if you lift up on one leg, subtly, so the nurse won’t notice, and stand on just the other, you’ll actually add a couple of pounds; not the result I'm looking for. However, if you bend one leg at the knee into a ninety degree angle, you’ll actually lose a couple of pounds. However, the nurse will undoubtedly notice this and require you to keep both feet flat on the scale. I am going to keep working on this and will let you know if I come up with a viable plan for cheating the scale.

Okay, did I mention the snoring? Chris says it’s because of the extra fat being stored in my neck. My whole life, I’ve never been a snorer, all of the sudden, I snore…. loudly. Apparently, I was doing this for weeks and Chris never mentioned a word of it to me. Well, Chris and I share a queen-size bed so there’s no escaping each other. The first time I was made aware of the snoring was one night when my face rested on his shoulder literally inches from his face and I was just snoring away. Chris woke me up and said, “you know, I don’t mind that you snore now but do you think you could maybe face the other direction?!” Up until that point, I had no idea I was doing it. I’m hoping, for Chris’ sake, that this is some strange side-effect of pregnancy and it will dissolve after Rebecca is born.

I think, whether you’re one of those women who likes being pregnant or not, it’s the most bizarre and discouraging thing to see your stomach balloon from thin and fit to big and pot-bellied, seemingly overnight. A friend of mine recently pointed out to me that, even with all of the scary, creepy, and sometimes disgusting things that happen to you when you’re pregnant, at least you can enjoy all of the extra attention from others. My response was that I was perfectly happy with the attention I got when I had a flat stomach and a nice ass. But that’s okay because there are more important elements at play here. Pregnancy is a necessary means to enriching your life with children. As sarcastic and, perhaps, negative as I may seem sometimes, I'm really just making light of what is so incredibly foreign to me. In reality, everyday I’m so happy that we're one day closer and I'm all the more excited for our lives to be changed forever. Rebecca is going to be the best thing that's ever happened to us.