I’ve always…very quietly, and very under the radar, struggled with weight gain. As in, it’s something I hate doing, and therefor don’t.
My BMI typically hangs out around 18 or 19. And while I don’t go to extreme measures to keep it that way (anymore), I actively make food choices to support a “healthier” lifestyle. (Plus, something had to give when I was drinking hundreds of calories worth of rum every night 😂).
This is now my 4th time being pregnant. Which means I pretty much know the drill. Im currently 8 and a half weeks…and while the weight gain hasn’t exactly started yet… I can tell it’s rapidly approaching. This little raspberry sized baby is already making my pants fit a little too tight. And although I know this is completely normal and right….my first instinct is to just stop eating.
Usually, partially intentionally, and partially just due to the nature of being busy and having 2 young kids at home, I only eat one meal a day after the kids go to bed, and a snack or something light in the morning. It’s already been a huge adjustment having to..ya know…actually eat more frequently.
It’s hard to just accept that, once again, I’m gonna get fat. I don’t love it, I really don’t. Admittedly, I’m probably handling it better than I did with my previous pregnancies, but it’s still difficult mentally. With my first one, I gained exactly 30 pounds. I pretty much made sure of that. And with the other 2 it was very much the same. Maybe 33 with my most recent pregnancy.
I don’t know why this matters, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I’m really just dreading it. I know it isn’t a big deal, and the most important thing is to be healthy and have optimal nutrition for both me and the baby, and I will. I want to. It’s just…I don’t know. I think maybe it gets easier once you look pregnant instead of just looking like you had a few too many tacos for dinner last night. Which I’m pretty sure is probably how I look now, trying to fit into skinny jeans that even on my best day are a perfect fit.
There are things more important than the number on the scale. And each baby I’ve carried is just that – more important. And this one is too.
It’s a struggle, I won’t lie about that. It’s the hardest part of this whole thing for me, and fighting the urge to just not eat is difficult. Eating something more substantial than a salad is hard. Shit, eating more than one and a half times a day is nearly impossible. And actually feeling hungry all the time? Ugh. This damn raspberry.
I know it will be okay, it’s just a fucking struggle right now. Much like alcohol, I don’t have the healthiest relationship with food. Using it both as a source of comfort, and as something I deprive myself of. It’s tumultuous, and there’s a lot of give and take. Feeling hungry, in my head, feels like failing, or like I’m doing something wrong. I know it’s messed up, and I KNOW that it’s wrong. And I’m trying, once again, to adjust my thinking to support this current lifestyle.
I know that I will get there. But this was on my mind lately, and I felt like I needed to give it a voice. This part of me really isn’t something that I ever give voice to or talk about…ever. I guess there are still a few things I keep close to me, and this is one of them. I really don’t know why.
Anyway…I’m hungry. So I suppose I am going to go and eat something, and maybe today, just today, I can try to feel good about it, instead of hating myself for it just a little bit.
Remember, you are worth it. It doesn’t matter what your scale says, or how you think you should look or be….you are worth it, and you’re worthy of love and being loved.