It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what that math equation is doing to my body. The sad part is the experts say there is absolutely no reason you need to eat more in the first trimester, but my brain and stomach have teamed up to sabotage my perfect pregnancy plan this early in the game.
I never wanted to be that girl; the one that is unable to control her sudden urges to eat discussing and harmfully toxic chemically filled foods. I managed to fight the dexamethasone steroid while cycling and proved myself by eating healthier than I ever had before, and that just affirmed my assumptions that eating while pregnant would be easy, you know, because I'm growing another human. Why in the world would I feed my body anything less than the best while attempting to nourish and provide for this child I've waited years to make?
Then came last Thursday night.
After a quick get-together with a girlfriend from high school at Barns & Noble's, I fought off the urge to down a Frappachino, instead sipping on my water and glancing a few side eyes at the baby book section without being too obvious. But as 10pm rolled around and we said our goodbyes, I found myself yearning desperately for the saltiness of an In-N-Out burger.
And because it's not highly processed crap food and my motor functions shut down after 9pm anyway, I obliged.
But while placing my order for a double double protein style dry over the scratchy intercom at a quarter past my bedtime, my child decided it just had to have french fries to go along with that burger.
I never eat their french fries.
But before I could stop myself, the baby high jacked my vocal chords and I was adding fries to accompany my already large burger order. I was baffled by this out of body experience as I pulled forward to pay for my order, but I reminded myself that I was at In-N-Out, not McDonald's, so at least I wasn't about to consume the guru of bad-for-you fast food. I was just going to enjoy a late dinner, and this would be a one time deal.
Sort of an initiation into the pregnancy club, since I don't seem to have any other symptoms.
But then they placed the box of salty goodness in my hands, and I surprised not only the boy on the other side of the sliding glass window, but myself as well when I managed to devour an entire handful of fries before moving an inch; glancing in my rear view mirror to make sure I wasn't holding up the line as I continued to eat with my right hand while placing the car in drive with my left.
They were the best fries I'd ever had.
I figured it was best-and safest-for everyone if I just pulled into the parking lot to quickly down my food, especially since I wasn't quite ready to see the I told you so look on my husbands face when I walked in our house that late at night holding an In-N-Out box and smelling of french fries. So I sat in the dark parking lot, fries in one hand, burger in the other, glancing around guiltily to see if anyone was staring at the crazy pregnant girl in the car inhaling her late night binge craving.
But to my advantage, very few people are out wandering the streets of our town at 10:30pm.
In less than five minutes I had disposed of the evidence and was on my way home, when the night made an even bigger turn for the worst. Before I knew what was happening, the baby took control of my motor functions once again and headed the car directly to WINCO, because even after consuming a meal that would have made me sick a few short weeks ago, it was suddenly imperative that I add a plain sugar doughnut into the mix.
I parked my car and ran directly into the nearly empty store and straight to the stale bakery section where I quickly located the last of the two warm, soft, plain sugar doughnuts. But as I placed them gently in the clear plastic bag, I spotted it something else I just had to have.
A plain glazed doughnut.
I probably wouldn't have grabbed it, had it not been setting all by itself. But it looked so lonely there, basking in solitude and left behind to be destroyed by the late night crew seeing as it was almost 11pm at this point, and I knew the poor little guy wouldn't make it to the next morning without being disposed of.
I just couldn't let that happen.
So into the bag it went as I rushed to the nearest check out line, paid for my three doughnuts and headed out of the store, fighting open the twisty tie package before I could make it out the self closing double doors.
One was completely devoured before I made it to my car, and the other doughnut never made it out of the parking lot. The third was consumed before I made it home, as to ensure that my husband would know nothing of this madness.
I don't think he's ready for this kind of crazy just yet.
As for the decrease in physical activity, I don't have nearly as good of an excuse. I'm pretty sure that before becoming pregnant, Yoga, jogging and long walks kept me sane, gave me something to work toward, made my body feel empowered, and kept my unsettled mind occupied. But since becoming a temporary fertile, I've chosen to take it easy to protect my little miracle so the jogging stopped immediately.
Then then yoga was put on hold after rumors swirled that downward dog and all other inverted positions were not safe for those growing small children, mixed with the complications of my sister's unknowing eye catching my weak attempt at a false bow pose during our twice weekly yoga class.
I lied and said I had cramps, but the truth was I just could not justify putting all of my weight on my lower abdomen while laying face down with my arms and legs in the air, and this darn progesterone makes any attempt at balance a joke, so until we reach that safe haven of twelve weeks, the yoga is minimal and mostly fake; due to the fact that our situation is still a huge-elephant-in-the-room kind of secret and I'm not ready to tell my sister the truth quite yet.
And in the meantime I'll watch my pooch grow more and more distorted, caught somewhere between the consumption of a very large dinner and the beginning stages of the glorious baby bump I've always wanted.
But with all the research I've read, lack of activity mixed with poor food choices can lead not only to obesity for myself and my child, but also diabetes, preeclampsia and a whole slew of attention deficit disorders; all of which scare my brain to the point of wanting to hit the gym twice daily and consume nothing but organic apples and salad.
But we all know that's not going to happen.
Really, all I can do is try my best to not get discouraged when I fall off the wagon. As a type A personality, obsessive compulsive control freak and self proclaimed perfectionist, this lack of energy, increased appetite and extremely early eight pound weight gain is a lot for me to swallow. But while I may be wallowing in self pity for the poor decisions that I've already made, you certainly won't find me complaining about my growing bulge or the fact that I recently gave in to an insane amount of calories in a very short period of time.
Because that's all a part of being pregnant.
Some girls may have more will power to eat well, a more disciplined routine and the ability to force themselves to work out while fighting fatigue; but this girl is just happy to be here. I'm learning as I go, thankful every day that I wake up to a new day and remember that I'm blessed to be growing my very own offspring despite the ever present challenges that lead me to question my sanity.
I will do my best to eat better and work out more; not only to keep myself healthy but to keep my miracle on the right track as well. I need to pray away not only the temptation of fear as I experience random bleeding episodes and the strange new twinges and cramps that accompany early pregnancy, but also the temptation to give in to everything I've avoided for the last six months in order to help create this miracle.
Because this may very well be my only chance to house another human.
And I want to be flexible, allowing myself to enjoy and indulge in things that make me happy as I go through this experience, while attempting to not go overboard and destroy everything I've worked so hard for. I'll watch what I eat and make wise choices, but I'll also make a few guilt free trips to In-N-Out every once in a while if that's what it takes to keep things rolling.
And occasionally, have a doughnut or two.
"You can never re-create the past. But you can shape your own future. And you can eat cake.”