My approach to weight gain during pregnancy, has – up until now – been to completely ignore it. The scales are hidden from human eyes, I don’t read any of the weight bits in pregnancy books and so on. This worked very successfully for me last time, with the exception of one memorable incident which I have to share ….
I was lying prostrate on the sofa watching CSI, while my husband perused the baby book. “How much weight have you put on?” he asks innocently. “I don’t know” says I. The poor man didn’t hear the warning note in my voice, if he had his survival instinct might have kicked in. Instead he says “Why don’t you go in and weigh yourself now? Go on, I want to see and compare it with the book”. Instead of responding, I proceed immediately to tearful and dramatic scenes incorporating such classics as “so you think I am fat”, “all men are XXXXXXX’s” and much, much more. At this point, naturally, the love of my life beat a hasty retreat – complimenting me on my natural beauty and svelte form all the way. Following a chilly interval between us and a period of explaining himself to everyone we met (of course I told everyone) he was forgiven. And needless to add, I didn’t weigh myself.
I slipped up badly this weekend though, when I was in a friend’s bathroom. The scales were just there… looking at me… and it seemed rude not to look back. Well, look I did, and I regret it now. It’s not that I have put on stones and stones, more that what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. I liked believing people when they say “You haven’t put on a pick, it’s all bump”. Unless my bump is made of lead, then sadly, it’s not all bump, and is a fair amount of bum /thigh / bingo wing as well.
Like many women, I spend a lot of time worrying about my weight – applying certain rules (no bread unless I am out, no salad dressing on weekdays, no desserts unless a full moon falls on a Friday etc) and certain counter rules (all bets are off in dear restaurants, on holidays, and when it is anyone’s birthday, and there are no calories in certain types of food – examples being food they give out free in supermarkets and food you nick off someone else’s plate) So I walk a fine line between self control and abandonment, and by the application the above rules, I – usually – know where I am.
But pregnancy changes all this – for a number of reasons:
1. I am going to put on weight anyway, I may as well enjoy it.
2. There are loads of things I can’t eat or drink, so I deserve nice treats as compensation.
3. My bump is a particularly good level for balancing a box of after-eights when lying on the sofa, and if nature has set things up that way, who am I to thwart her?
4. The heartburn will get so bad towards the end that I won’t be able to eat anything (much) so I need to stock up.
5. I am hungry.
I am not gorging myself all day every day (a day job and a toddler see to that), but it’s a case of a breadroll with my salad here, and a minty aero there. I knew deep down that my backside would pay the price for my minty aero indulgence, but I didn’t need to see the results on a scales quite so soon. So the next time someone says “It’s all bump”, I’ll be thinking “Liars! What else do they say that I can’t believe”… Ignorance was bliss. Now, pass me the after-eights.