Friday, March 14, 2008

We'll Start This Off With a Good(ish) Story...

So it was a few months ago (yes, I know, it's been a while). I was about 5 months pregnant at that point.

I started off about 15 lbs. less than I weighed when I got pregnant with my first (thanks mostly to stress). And luckily with this one, I didn't have the 8-week bout of nausea i had the last time, the only cure for which was constant eating, so overall, I am (or at least was) smaller this go-round.

But then one day, I started noticing that in addition to still fitting into a lot of my normal clothes, my rings were actually falling off of my fingers.

"Dear lord, what is WRONG with me?" part of me thought, while at least 30% of my brain was thinking of all of those skinny minnies who just have a cutesy little basketball for a pregnancy. "Oh, I'm so huge--I've gained 12 pounds!" they giggle at month eight. "Could that maybe be me? Or is this serious?" I thought.

I walked up to the mirror and really scrutinized. "Do I have an eating disorder?" I thought, a million Oprahfied stats about how you just don't notice it when it's you running through my head. "Have I really not gained enough weight?" (again, while still congratulating myself a wee little bit for maybe being one of THOSE women). My doctors had said things like "you're doing great!" and I felt like I was eating pretty normally, but still...

I had this debate running through my head for about a week, not saying a word to anyone, just thinkingthinkingthinking. I left my rings in a little dish by the sink, occasionally trying them on. They fell clear off every time.

Finally about six days later, my husband was in the kitchen, near the little ring dish. "What's going on with that?" he asked.

"Okay. Here's the thing," I said rather (over)dramatically. "Do I have an eating disorder?"

"WHAT?!" my husband asked incredulously. "Um, no? And um," he chuckled, "why would you even ask?"

"Here's why." (again, another dramatic pause, sliding on my rings, turning my hands, then watching them drop off. "My rings. They won't stay on my fingers. I think I'm not only gaining weight, I may be losing it."

"Um, hey ASSHOLE..." he said in his loving, sweet way.


"Your wedding ring? Yeah, that goes on your OTHER hand. Crazypants."

Sure enough, I'm not a glamazon yummy mummy. I'm a sausage-fingered crazypants who still doesn't know her right hand from her left.

Such a glamorous life I lead.

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