Food, Redux

27 weeks in, I can definitely tell you that pregnancy changes your relationship to food. I used to wake up at 9am on Saturday, take the dog on an hour walk and then spend an hour mowing my lawn before having coffee. Now I have to eat a protein bar before I leave the house because I can’t wait an hour to have my actual breakfast at work.

I also don’t go anywhere without emergency snacks (a packet of nuts) in my purse. I got caught places without food too many times.

In my unblogged about 20 week midwife visit,* I got put on a version of the paleo diet. I wasn’t eating enough protein, eat only meat and vegetables. Nothing white, no sugar, no artificial sugars, no beans, no corn, no potatoes, maaaybe quinoa just meat and vegetables. So, I ate salad for a month. I felt guilty for having sugar in my coffee and buying the honey roasted nuts by accident. I told Graze I was lactose intolerant and gluten intolerant. I had one splurge a week, except when I had three on vacation.

See, when I get advice from a doctor, I don’t half-listen. I kind of go crazy. I’d actually specifically picked this set of midwives over others because I knew I would get into disordered eating otherwise. Welcome to life following the rules and being a fat girl. You get in this desperate rut to prove to people that you’re not one of those fat girls,** that you have to color within the lines and do exactly what you’re supposed to do.

I also had my blood glucose because I’m a fatty fat fat fat (read: my BMI) and that my mom got diabetes… at 60. So the more I read into the visit, the more I saw that my food choices and my body were unacceptable to a healthy pregnancy and that I was going to get diabetes and I’m a terrible baby grower. (Never mind my regular exercise routine, that I was still under pre-pregnancy weight at the time and that I was eating pretty decently before that)

I came back for my 24 week visit and glucose test and was told I was eating too much protein. And that the midwife I talked to didn’t understand why I had my glucose test moved up. And she thought everything looked fine. I celebrated by eating a piece of pizza and then reintroduced bread into my life. I remembered how awesome peanut butter sandwiches are instead of just eating peanut butter with a spoon. I had an ice cream bar a few times a week again. I found out I passed my glucose test with flying colors. I had chips and queso to celebrate.

But this is a digression. Somewhere in finding another way to make yet another salad with chicken, beets, nuts and cheese appealing and worrying that my produce choices of pickled beets, carrots and apples were too high in sugar, my relationship to food changed a bit. I still calorie track like a mo-fo (Fitbit for the win!), but I also don’t really care if I go over. I’m not feeling guilty if I splurge. I just want eating habits that make me happy, that are automated enough that food doesn’t run my brain and that I don’t get defeated by the idea that we don’t have any thawed chicken for dinner.

It’s a process, but I’m getting there. Still working on thawing the chicken.

*I actually did write a blog post about it, but wordpress lost the draft and I care enough to resurrect. This is the gist, anyway.
**This is all bullshit anyway. You are who you are. Your body is not separate from you, nor a tool under your control. Society’s determined to judge us all on something, it’s just reserving real vitriol right now for fat women. (way more than it judges fat men, probably because mainstream culture already feels ownership over women’s bodies anyway)


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