I got completely freaked out when my doctor told me I had gained more than they like to see in a month. (I gained 6 pounds in one month, although to be fair, they didn’t have me pee before the weigh in and I’d drunk about 14 gallons of water that day to “flush out” my cold.)

Now, logically, I should say, “Ok. That’s a fluke. I’ll do better.” But I don’t respond that way to my weight. I panicked.  I’ve written excessively and annoyingly that my body attracts weight and keeps it close by. Yes, my body is that great looking guy in high school who gets all the gals and hangers-on whether or not he should.  Something like that.

Can I blame pregnancy brain for bad analogies?

So I haven’t been baking. Cooking has been haphazard…I’ve had no disasters in the kitchen, just nothing inspired.

I miss creating things that I want to devour. I feel I’m so paranoid with this pregnancy.  I suppose it’s good that I’m in that bizzare phase where Baby is on my belly and I don’t feel much like eating anyway.  But even eating the bare minimum that’s healthy for me and Baby seems to be packing on 2 pounds a week. I hate this. I just want a damned cookie without putting on 5 pounds that won’t come off.

I feel like I’m dieting, fercrissake (and, let’s be clear, I am NOT dieting.) I feel totally deprived and unhappy with food right now.

Boo and hiss.

Obviously I need to remember this when I go back to fluctuating 3 pounds (non-pregnant.)  Seems pretty asinine right now.