let her eat cake?
It's odd. The whole thing is very strange to me. TA has responded to my pregnancy, the gift of a special maternity recipe book and my inability to face cooking with compulsive baking. So far, we've had two mammoth carrot cakes, a batch of chocolate brownies and poached pears with chocolate sauce. Plans are apparently afoot to make flapjacks. He hasn't bothered to explore any of the book's savory recipes.
Meanwhile, even without TA’s help, I've reconnected with carbs. Guilt-free carbs have been absent from my life for five years now. In the frantic nine-week period when we decided we were getting married, I divorced myself from carbs in an attempt to be the fairytale size ten in time for the big day. I achieved it too, dropping to less than nine-and-a-half stone and looking rather skeletal in the process (I'm 6ft tall for goodness sake - I'm not supposed to weigh that little). Since then my weight has gone up and down and my diet (as in the foods I eat, not a weight-loss regime) has changed considerably - she who marries Australian, eats Australian - but my carb phobia has remained.
Now I eat carbs and, unsurprisingly given my condition, I'm gaining weight. It's difficult to work out where one cause ends and the other begins though. I'm definitely getting all-over fatter, which has me a bit miserable and TA (who describes himself as fat phobic) a bit itchy. I was flicking through Emma’s Diary last night as the end of the first trimester looms and I wanted to reacquaint myself with what's meant to happen next. Inevitably, interleaved with all the useful information, every other page was an advert for some must-have pregnancy consumer good. At least half the adverts were for strangely glamorous maternity wear modelled by annoyingly skinny ladies.
Me: "Look at that! It’s all well and good for normal clothes to be modelled by skinny women, but surely they should have the decency to have podgy ladies model maternity wear."
TA: "I dunno, I’ve seen a lot of skinny pregnant women around recently."
Me: "Shut it! I’m going to be an obese pregnant lady, I just know it."
Me: "Well stop baking me cakes!"
You’d think the pressure would lessen, but actually I'm feeling it more and more. I’m pretty much hungry all the time. I try to eat almost all healthy food, but the sheer amount I’m getting through - five pieces of fruit a day, chewy nut bars, breakfast, lunch, dinner and pudding - means that I’m still heading for an appointment with a film crew for a "winching the fat lady out of her house through the window with a crane" documentary.
My mother’s advice? Eat celery. Bitch. I came very close to shouting "What do you know, you’ve never even been pregnant!" to her. I refrained, just.
I would write more but I’m ravenous and I need to secure myself a pre-lunch snack before I start retching with hunger.