Oh, how I hate stretchy pants. Seriously.
I worked so hard to get OUT of stretchy pants and into some jeans that look damned good, and not I'm digging through my bottom drawer trying to find some. Oh yeah, I threw almost everything out, save for a couple of pair that I used for PJ pants. I remember hearing over and over about how you shouldn't keep your chubbster clothes around, unless you wanted to fit into them again. Maybe I've been cursed by that pair of stretchies, hiding in the bottom of that drawer.
It's my own fault. I wish that I could get a handle on this healthy eating thing, but right now it is eluding me completely. For a few weeks now, I've been so horrifically tired that cooking has been the absolute last thing on my mind. That doesn't mean that eating hasn't been on my mind though. Apparently, I like to eat when I'm awake. A lot. I've been trying to curb that, but I think that it is the hormones that are making me nuts. I've got mad munchies, can't seem to stay awake for more than 30 minutes at a time, and cry over every blessed thing. All this proves to me is that babies are master manipulators of mommy, even when they are only the size of a bean. I'd laugh about it, but then I'd probably just break out in hysterical crazy crying again... like when I heard that song on the radio this morning.....
I think that I know where my extra weight has gone. Ten pounds have settled around my abdomen/hip area, because that's just fun. It's just enough to make my jeans press against that scar from my hernia repair, and that hurts me. So, while I'm not THAT pregnant, I'm walking around in stretchy pants and sweats to avoid the pain. I'm thinking that that scar tissue might be a rather big problem for me as I become more rotund. Round. Spherical. Oompa-Loompa-ish. (Hopefully I don't turn orange. lol)
Now, the other ten pounds has landed squarely in my breasts. Yeah, it's like squeezing a 5 lb. bag of sugar into each poor boob. My husband keeps wiggling his eyebrows at me, but I am in PAIN! Shnikes. These are seriously angry boobs. I think they may try to strangle me in my sleep. My doc usually checks these things for lumps during our first full examination, but I'm thinking that I might ask for a reprieve tomorrow. Maybe he will grant me this small kindness. I feel them all the time. There are no lumps, and they work just fine. They also look as though they could feed a baby elephant, so pushing around on them sounds like a bad idea.
I was reading the other day that this medical study suggested that women of my rubenesque nature might be better off gaining little to no weight during pregnancy. It makes me laugh, really, imagining how I can be duct-taped to my recliner, fed by my husband, and not gain weight. As soon as I hit that 2nd trimester mark, my husband plans on taking over all of my household duties and nagging me into continual rest. To his way of thinking, it helped us get out daughter, and it might help delay any degradation of blood clots that may or may not form. He's of the mind that moving and shifting around a lot might disturb areas of the placenta that might be tenuously holding on. That means that I have a month and a half before he starts putting me on lockdown.
If anyone has any ideas on how we can possibly get some vegetables and healthy foods into me, instead of pizza and tacos, I am all ears! My husband works real hard during the day, and he also has very little experience with cooking. So, he is all about convenience food when I cannot provide for him. If I'm a good girl, he may let me be in the kitchen if I promise to stay in my rollie-chair and not be getting up. Help?