Still here, still hungry
Hi! I’m still here. And still hungry.
I’m reaching the point of pregnancy where I have to answer phone calls, texts and emails with the same refrain: “No baby yet.” Calling anyone unexpectedly usually prompts them to ask me if “it’s time,” or if “anything’s happening.”
Technically, I have three weeks until my due date — but something tells me I’m not making it the full 40 weeks. Because of our experience with prematurity when our first child was born, I’ve been “ready” for weeks now. I mean, sure, there are those last-minute tasks that would be nice to accomplish (stockpiling freezer meals; doing more laundry), but they’re not necessities. If Baby Girl ar- rives tomorrow, we’ll be fine. I think. The waiting — the not-know- ing — is making me anxious. I’m not good at it. As a kid, I hated playing hide-and-seek; crouching behind a sofa and listening for footfalls made me nervous. Would someone jump out unexpectedly? What would I do when they found me? I used to break out in a sweat when a little cousin would beg me to play, even well into my teen years. Didn’t want to dis- appoint the kid, but the waiting was too much.
But this waiting? It’s the excit- ing part, I know. And it is, after all, the experience I was denied during my first pregnancy. As I was hospitalized shortly into my third trimester and ultimately induced due to preeclampsia, we never played the waiting game. I desperately wanted to stay pregnant as long as pos- sible. When I had Oliver eight weeks early, I mourned the loss of those final months. All I wanted was that happy, normal, made-for-TV experience.
In time, of course, I came to accept that “normal” is relative. Who really has a normal experience — and what is that, anyway? It was most important that Oliver and I are both here and healthy. The rest is just a prologue, really.
Still, making it so far this time has been a tremendous relief. I didn’t dare hope every- thing would go this smoothly. Though I’m not yet considered full-term, 37 weeks is much bet- ter than 32 — and ever y day we inch closer to my due date is a weight off my shoulders.
Though pretty soon, getting this weight off will be the real weight off my shoulders.
Despite my (mostly?) good intentions, I’ve still managed to pack on the pounds since the fall. My weight gain was certainly steadier than the quick ballooning that happened with Oliver, but ultimately more than I would have liked. (In the interest of full disclosure, I typed this paragraph while simultaneously eating a fried chicken sandwich. So.)
Partially to blame is the nausea that has plagued me from the beginning. The old wives’ tales about expecting girls and the accompanying roller coast- er of sickness were certainly true in my case. With my son, I could eat whatever I wanted — with few consequences — within a few months. But this time? Well.
Carbohydrates seem to be the answer. As long as I have bread, I can suffer through. Rarely am I sitting without a pack of crackers or a granola bar at my elbow. The key is to plan ahead and always have rations at the ready. Constant snacking is necessary.
At the office, the piles of snack foods on my desk can get a little embarrassing. But it’s harder at home. With a toddler watching ever ything I do (and consume), I feel the weight of setting a bad example . . . and also struggle with his little hands reaching out for a piece of whatever I have in mine. Oliver has not proven himself to be a picky eater so far, so it’s feasible that I could share my cookies, tuna, olives or ice cream. I just don’t want to.
That sounds worse than I in- tended. Trust me: I do share. All the time. Like his mom, Ollie enjoys a good snack, and I’m certainly not one to deny him. Those adorable, pleading brown eyes get away with just about everything.
So I sneak-eat. Often. Because it’s easier. Because I’m greedy and don’t always want to give half of every treat I’m consuming to my toddler. Because what I’m eating isn’t necessarily “healthy,” and I feel guilty giving more sugar to our not-quite-2-year-old. He has his applesauce, Teddy Grahams, macaroni and pudding cups; can’t a woman just eat one Girl Scout cookie in peace?
Best to get it out of my system now. As I’ve been pregnant twice in two years, I’m looking forward to gaining control of my eating habits — and my body — once again. What I consume will hopefully change after my daughter is born, and I’m excited to get back to walking. Back to vegetables. Back on a healthier track.
Caffeine consumption notwithstanding.
You can only ask so much of a person, you know?