34 weeks pregnant! And I’ve gained 38 pounds. I have days when I feel fine about that and then other days when I wonder if I’ll ever wear my favorite jeans again. Even if I do have to grunt to get them on.
Captain and I head to the doctor. Usually we see a midwife. She’s been lovely, reassuring and telling me that my weight gain is right on track. The other day the doctor looks at my weight gain and tells me,
“There was a jump in your weight.”
Yes. I saw that. I’m growing a baby. The doctor asks,
“How are you eating?”
“I’m eating well.” Is that what she’s asking? She’s going to need to be more direct if she wants to know about my daily ice cream habit.
The doctor looks me up and down and declares,
“Well you look great.”
“Thanks.” Is her medical assessment that I’ve gained too much weight, but I look good so it may be ok? Also I’m 6 feet tall and maybe my weight gain is going to be more than a 5 foot tall woman.
I’m feeling annoyed, hormonal, hot and sweaty. She better finish this up soon. She measures my belly.
“You’re measuring right on track. Not too big.”
That’s what I thought. Then for the third time this appointment, she reminds me,
“Remember we’re aiming for you to gain 1/2 pound to a pound a week.”
Listen lady, I’m eating when I’m hungry and I’m not eating when I’m not hungry. It’s not my fault that my butt is in competition with my belly and is set on serving as counterweight.
I leave in a huff. Captain reassures me,
“You’re growing a baby, it’s your job to gain weight. You’re doing great.”
Thank you. I need an ice cream.