But I’ve gained more than the 15 pounds that my doctors recommended that I gain with this pregnancy. Already. As of this morning, I’m up 19 pounds. 19! And I’ve still got 17.5 weeks to go. Including 2-3 vacations/weekends away, the hubby’s birthday, and Thanksgiving. This is not a good thing, my friends.
Not that it’s all that surprising to me, either. Seriously? Gaining only 15 pounds with a pregnancy? That’s cray-cray. I’d like to say that I’ve been eating really well. And I can tell you that I had a salad for lunch yesterday. But then I might conveniently leave out the part where I didn’t finish it (there was too much dressing), and instead went back for a second biscuit. Ahem, a second cheese biscuit.
Oh, and then there were the bananas that I bought to add into protein pancakes or to top English muffins with peanut butter. Instead, they sat too long, and I HAD to make some banana chocolate chip bread. And then I HAD to proceed to eat 2 slices per day this week. Luckily the hubby’s been eating more than that, and it’s finally gone.
I did not expect this to be this hard, folks. I’m really not sure why, though. I mean, I have tried my entire life. ENTIRE LIFE! to lose weight, and now I’m just piling the pounds on like it’s my job. 19 pounds in 22.5 weeks isn’t ALL that terrible, and honestly, I really only look like I’ve gained some weight in the belly (it’s *thank goodness* not distributed itself to my face or upper arms — yet). But knowing that I still have 17.5 weeks to go, and this kiddo is just going to grow & grow & grow, is terrifying.
I cried this morning, exclaiming that if I couldn’t control my need for ice cream, how could I possibly be a good mother. I even said that I wished she was going to be a boy, because then he wouldn’t really worry about his weight like I do. Friends, I am so scared that I am going to screw this little, innocent, perfect baby up.
Back to basics, my friends. No, not a diet. But tracking what I eat. Doing my cardio. Making good choices. Setting myself up for success.