Me: Considers a meal without some spice or bite a waste.
Pregnant Me: Ate not a bit of spice for six weeks.
Me: Loves onions. And garlic. And believes nothing in this world is not made better with the addition of bacon.
Pregnant Me: Could not digest onions. Or garlic. Or bacon. Never mind being able to taste them for multiple days.
Me: Can’t handle dairy. Milk is the devil.
Pregnant Me: Tried. Especially when besieged by heartburn. But can’t handle dairy. Milk is the devil.
Me: Doesn’t drink enough water. When asked by her gyn how many glasses of water she drinks, replied, “In a week?”
Pregnant Me: Tried valiantly to drink 6 – 8 glasses a day for weeks and failed. Then looked at the actual ounces in her ginormous glasses and realized she was exceeding the goal by at least 50%. Now regularly hits the 64 oz. per day goal before lunchtime.
Me: Doesn’t drink calories. Prefers to eat calories, often in large quantities via chips and salsa. Crunchy things are like crack.
Pregnant Me: Drinks calories, albeit watered down. Can’t stand the taste of artificial sweeteners, but abhors the thought of the sugar calories in sodas and juice. Waters down her sugary drinks by double. Crunchy things are still like crack. Thankfully. Although now, they’re more often sweet crunchy things, she’ll admit.
Me: Loves to eat. Organizes thoughts around meals. Embarrassing to admit how much she looks forward to eating.
Pregnant Me: Loves to not puke. Organizes her thoughts around not puking. Embarrassing to admit she dreaded waking up and getting through the day when eating was a challenge and the day might involve puking. Takes a pill to prevent puking. Really only actually puked for three days before deciding to take a pill to prevent puking, thus rendering her unable to complain about puking with any sort of credibility.
Me: Often overeats like a Labrador puppy. Then complains while doing whatever follows, as this happens often enough to be normal.
Pregnant Me: Periodically overeats like a Labrador puppy. Then has to lay very still for a couple of hours while every bit of energy left in her body is diverted to digesting, all the while feeling (and looking) like a beached whale, albeit one with a cantaloupe in her lower belly.
Me: Happy carnivore. Wonders, while devouring a rare steak with a side of more steak, how vegetarians can live without this.
Pregnant Me: Happy blandivore. Wonders, while eying hubby’s huge rare steak, how one can possibly digest that much meat.
Me: Often craves a beer or glass of wine, both for the taste and because that first sip gives the stress a nod goodbye. Or at least stands up and gets it’s coat.
Pregnant Me: Oh, sadness. Sniffs husband’s beer deeply, as if doing so might still signal to stress to bid adieu. Finds herself looking forward to the end of the day when she can have a beer, and thankfully, doesn’t realize this to be impossible until the day is actually over. Is relieved she hadn’t clued in earlier.
Me: Is a little freaked out by the pregnant body. Can’t help it. Imagines herself to be a rolly polly dumpy puffy pregnant woman. When being frank, believes herself to be a dumpy non-pregnant woman, so halfway there.
Pregnant Me: Is a little freaked out by the pregnant body. Can’t help it. Imagines herself to be a rolly polly dumpy puffy pregnant woman.
Don’t know how many of you have been/ are/ will hopefully someday be pregnant, so I think I’ll post life-ish things here (mostly like this, where I ponder the changes in my body and my brain as things inevitably change) and the humdrum details of the this pregnancy at http://www.parentheticalme.com/three.