Friday, September 22, 2006



Oh my god, I’m so hungry. Hungry, hungry, hungry. I’m hungry all. the. time. Sheesh, you’d think I was pregnant or something.

It’s really inhumane how hungry I am. This child I am gestating is the size of a grape seed, and demands more caloric intake per day than my 47 lbs son consumes in a week. And it's not just the lip-smacking, vaguely peckish, tummy grumbling hunger, either. This is insistent, impossible-to-ignore, death-is-imminent-unless-you-eat-right-NOW hunger. Constantly.

I’m trying to be good, but it’s so haaaard. < /whiney voice > I’ve got a stash of apple sauce cups and almonds in my desk drawer. I’ve got boxes of raisins in my messenger bag. I try to eat small, healthy things throughout the day. And I am always, always starving.

I remember the rule of thumb from last time around, that ‘eating for two’ is a myth and that at most, you should be consuming an extra 300 calories a day. That, in case you are wondering, translates into one Tim Horton honey cruller doughnut. (320 calories, to be exact, but I’ll take the stairs an extra time today to make up the difference.) Psh. As if that's going to make a dent in the Hunger That Ate New York.

Every day this week, my eating pattern has been something along this line:
6:45 am, on the bus to work: one box of raisins.
7:15 am, at my desk: one muffin.
9:30 am, at my desk: handful of almonds (mmm, salty)
10:30 am, at my desk: a cup of applesauce.
(by this time I am so hungry I lick the bowl and foil peel-back lid clean of any speck of apply goodness)
12:00 (if I can hold off that long): lunch
(I try to make good lunch choices, but by the time lunch comes I am so hungry I want comfort food. Heavy, warm, gravy-soaked comfort food. And then I eat it, and for the rest of the afternoon I groan and my esophagus burns from the reflux and I curse the repeating taste of the damn gravy that tasted so good on the way down and will now haunt me for the rest of the afternoon.)
2:30 pm, at my desk: more almonds.
5:00 pm, making dinner: eat large chunks of whatever I am cooking raw as I prepare for dinner.
5:30 pm: dinner.
5:35 pm: remnants of Tristan’s dinner.
8:30 pm: snack.

At least I don't (looking for wood to touch) have much morning sickness to contend with. If I don't obey the command for food with adequate haste, my stomach starts to roll, but otherwise I've been pretty lucky.

And you know what the most cruel cut of all is? I'm losing my taste for coffee. With Tristan, I had a complete aversion to coffee - couldn't stand the idea of it. With Simon, I had a mild aversion through my first trimester, but was back on it by the fourth month.

This time around, it's not so much as an aversion to coffee as I just don't have the same level of adoration I normally have for it. Rather than running off to get my second (and sometimes third) cup of the morning, I end up leaving more than half of my first cup to get cold on my desk. I've actually started to downsize from my daily extra large, just because it's going to waste.

Oh cruel pregnancy, I'll happily deal with the hunger and the sciatica and the gas and the hormones and the disruption to my digestive tract, but for the love of all things holy, please don't take my coffee away from me!!!