No One Can Prepare You For This

Oh the joy and bliss of pregnancy. The eating (and eating and eating), the tender little movements, the enormous and almost obscene breasts, and of course the luminous skin and hair as a result of prenatal vitamins. I have felt really great, thought nothing much had changed physically except the bump (ok, and maybe the dimples on the tops of my thighs), and then there is the spray tan (see previous posting for explanation) to help keep the confidence going. And then the other day I made the biggest mistake a pregnant woman can make. I stepped onto the scale (I always turn my back when being weighed at the doctor- or have a slapping fight with the nurse who makes me weigh). And nothing could have prepared me for the evil number that glared at me from underneath my feet. I was at a friend's house when this happened so I called to her in a panic. I was sure that she would come in there and tell me that the scale was off by 20 pounds and then we would both laugh at the mistaken close call of my weighing the same as an NFL football player and then maybe even go celebrate with a milkshake. But no, my friends, that is not how it happened. She told me that the scale was not only accurate, it was doctor's-office-grade-accurate. And then confirmed that the number was in fact a whole number, with no decimals. I am not going to tell you what that number is because I feel obligated to hold on to my dignity as well as my supermodel reputation. But it's alot. ALOT. And to top it off? The baby hasn't even started putting on weight yet!! But what am I gonna do at this point? Diet? No. I am going to accept this astronomical number for what it is... sausage and biscuits, pizza, french fries, and milkshakes. And as a result, I will also accept my hamhocks that have become my arms, the cottage cheese that have become my knees, and of course the expanding road maps that have become my breasts. Amen.