This little bump o' mine

I really need to stop reading the blogs of other pregnant folk. I cannot read about one more woman that is still LOSING weight when she's over 12 weeks pregnant, while I've gained about 8 pounds. I know, I know it's my own folly for even comparing my pregnancy to anyone else's and don't get me wrong, I'm really not that upset about it. I just don't look forward to my OB appointment on Wednesday where I ask the nurse weighing me if it's acceptable to remove all of my clothing before she weighs me. Maybe I should just show up donning the paper napkin robe, that way no one has to feel like I am asking them a loaded question. And maybe the other patients would just think my paper wardrobe showed how ultra-prepared or time-efficient I was about my prenatal visits. The only judgment I am actually concerned about is my doctors of course. The last time I saw him, I stupidly asked him about my weight gain, "it's not too much is it?" He studied my chart for a moment, "well, at least we know it won't be a problem if you need to gain some weight later on."

One of my friends that has two little girls wrote me the other day and said she loves being pregnant because it makes her feel sexy (hi E!). I am envious, as I do not feel this way. Having spent my adult life trying to eat as healthy as possible so as not to gain weight, I'm having a hard time seeing the numbers climb higher and higher on that digital scale every morning. And why did I insist on asking Santa for a scale that tracked my body mass index as well? Just what kind of a sadistic jerk was I last year anyway? Answer: a skinny one.

For the record, I am sympathetic to the pregnant lasses out there that are losing weight because they have repeated second viewings of anything they put in their mouth. I haven't really had morning sickness involving actual vomit and I know I'm lucky (even if someone did once tell me that meant my baby wasn't thriving...umm thanks?) I've only had general nausea, food aversions and heightened olfactory sensitivity (huh?). The only thing I can do to help keep my queasiness at bay is to shove more pie into my pie hole. But I do not see the pie again, as a matter of fact my body doesn't want to let go of that damn pie at all. If you're picking up what I'm putting down...

But I'm really not that sensitive about the weight gain. I just don't want to have to read of another preggo chick in a fit of "woe-is-me I just CANNOT seem to gain weight! Why does my stomach still look like a washboard!" Oh boo hoo. Come on, don't ask for my sympathy if you're so obviously tickled that you don't look like you've swallowed a dozen donuts whole.

In other funny news, I walked into the living room last night wearing my oscar the grouch pajama pants and a black sports bra with my belly hanging all kinds of out. Dave shoots me his wide-eyed look of absolute alarm and said, "I think you swallowed the kitty." I pointed to where Luna was plotting her escape at the sliding glass door to the deck, "nu-uh, she's right there," I said while sucking in a small portion of my bump. "Then I think you swallowed the turtle," he said. At least laughter burns calories.