The whole world likes to discuss how much pregnant women eat. I have to concede that I have definitely eaten more while pregnant, although that has mostly referred to how frequently I put something in my face vs. the quantity of said face-filling food item. That is until the past week.
Sure, I’ve had a bad day here or there where it seems like I just couldn’t ingest enough food. On those days, I could polish off some pretty impressive piles of food and not even feel badly afterward, physically or mentally. Honestly, though, those days were exceptions rather than the rule. Usually, I would eat sensible portions (large snack-size or very small meal-size) on a roughly 3 hour basis. My palate did change later in the pregnancy, and I found myself subbing my usual low-fat protein and fresh veg plate with cravings for things such as blueberry pie (only after my meal). However, I wasn’t terribly alarmed since the scale never did anything crazy.
Then, about a week or so ago, something changed. And I don’t like it. It started with an overpowering urge to carb load. I think I made spaghetti for dinner 3 times last week. I wanted pasta and tomato sauce. Parmesan cheese was also very good (damn, I’m making myself hungry right now). But flavor aside, what was appalling was how much of it I would (and did) eat. We’re talking 2 large bowls in a sitting. After my pasta, I would need something sweet. Bring on dessert.
It’s like I’ve acquired a tapeworm at 9 months pregnant. It’s revolting. What’s worse is that with as large as the baby has been measuring, I’m not really into the idea of either of us putting on a whole lot of weight at once. To exacerbate it all, things aren’t moving as well as usual through my system. That is probably at least partially responsible for the gain (that, and the extra 5 quarts of water I seem to be retaining, mostly in my right foot).
I’m hoping that maybe I’m just having a bad week, and that my metabolism will sort us all out here very shortly. Preferably, before I have to climb on the scale tomorrow. I’m sure the extra mass is not helping my waddle any. In the meantime, I feel like a walking sausage.