Fatso

It turns out I am a bit of a fatso. At my doctor's appointment on Friday, I found out I had gained nearly 10 lbs since my last appointment--two weeks earlier!! For those who don't know, you are supposed to gain a pound a week. Not 5! I had lost a lot of weight in my first trimester (apparently, my doctor told me it is not unusual to loose weight when first on bed rest) so, she pointed out that I am still "within normal range" for weight gain despite my rapid increase, but also observed it is "a big jump." She also decided to notice some, "guilty looks" as my husband and I exchanged knowing glances.

Okay, I admit I recently noted an older version of that face I had my freshman year of college. I know some of you know it! People talk about the freshman 15; I gained the freshman...25. So, I admit that I was looking in the mirror lately, thinking, oh shit, it's that fat girl I haven't seen in nearly 15 years.

But c’mon! I love to eat. This is why I am so active in my regular life. I am proudly a girl who eats, and I am healthy and active to boot. I like my pasta and damn if I am ever going to give it up. The reason I am not usually totally fat is because I exercise. And obviously, there are no calories being burned in this house now. I just can’t help feeling with all the other deprivation, puuulleeeassse do not pull the plug on the Oreos! And the ice cream! And the chocolate! I need my daily dose!

The truth is I did notice I was overdoing it with the sweets. I did notice that I wasn't being as great about my fruits and vegetables, and I have felt a little crappier as a result. In fact, the honest to goodness truth is that I was about to make some changes myself. Really! This is how I know I am somewhat healthy in my regular life; I like the fruit, especially when it hasn't made an appearance in a while. But now that it is coming from the doctor? Now that she is the one confirming that I need to gain a little less rapidly? Now it is just another part of my prison sentence, and my husband, formerly known as “loving supportive guy,” is now known as "my captor." He isn't down with the excuse that I need the Oreos! And, as my captor, if he doesn’t buy them, I don’t get them!