If you’re a regular reader of this column, my aversion to sugar coating is always made very clear. From sleepless nights to frantic fits and endless love to hellish heartbreak, there’s a never-ending book of stories I plan to share as the pages continue to unfold.
Let’s leave love out of the equation today. I’m ready to weigh in on post-baby bodies, pregnancy pounds and the extremely unhealthy relationship I was forced to have with very healthy food for several months.
My pre-baby body bounced back quickly, but I’ve never had the ability to indulge in high-calorie, disgustingly delicious meals without paying the price.
My muscles are toned, and my stomach is flat, but that definitely doesn’t come without cardio in the gym and crunches on the floor.
As a teenager, I couldn’t understand why my girlfriends could chow down on cheeseburgers and chase them with French fries, all without seeing a change on the scale. This led to some dangerous behavior, as I dealt with anorexic tendencies at the age of 16. Eventually, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome, a condition that wreaks havoc on the hormones and makes getting — and staying — pregnant very difficult.
That’s where the miracle of Metformin, a drug taken on a daily basis to regulate insulin, changed my life. I was finally able to eat normal meals, get pregnant and carry my unborn son without problems. Smooth sailing, right? Not according to the numbers.
Everything was moving along flawlessly until my second trimester, the point at which doctors recommend discontinuing the drug. Of course, I would never do anything that could potentially jeopardize the perfection of my baby, so the day I reached the 13-week mark, Metformin was totally off the table — and so was all the mouth-watering, perfect pregnancy food that my medication-free body had no desire to handle.
The day I was induced with Dylan, my weight-gain grand total was 30 pounds, right on par with suggested guidelines, and my son tipped the scales at a very healthy 8 pounds, 3 ounces.
Up until the very end, I had an adorably round baby bump, and the rest of my figure remained quite similar to pre-pregnancy proportions. It sounds like a dream, but for a very hungry and hormonally compromised mother-to-be, it was a complete nightmare.
At around four months pregnant, the pounds were piling on much quicker that they should have been. At this point, I was experimenting with just what type of menu my body would digest, and the results weren’t so appetizing. Here’s a sample of what I dished out on a typical day:
BREAKFAST: 1.5 cups of Special K with skim milk and a banana.
MORNING SNACK: A hearty helping of Gerber Graduates Strawberry & Apple Puffs (yes, this is vitamin-rich baby food).
LUNCH: Salad with fresh vegetables, egg whites and a sprinkling of cheese (if I was “splurging”).
AFTERNOON SNACK: A piece of fruit with a cup of low-fat yogurt.
DINNER: Grilled chicken (no butter, oil or salt) and a double order of plain vegetables.
BEDTIME SNACK: The most sought-after, deeply craved meal of the day, something I still dream about and consume from the comfort of my bed on a regular basis: low-fat chocolate ice cream, topped with Lucky Charms, multicolored sprinkles and whipped cream — heaven in a pretty, pink bowl.
Sounds like a page from a diet book, right? Following this highly regimented formula, I was able to stay on track with the 1-pound-per-week weight gain my doctor wanted.
I ate pizza but was forced to remove most of the cheese and blot the oil.
Burgers made their way into my mouth but without the bun or side of fries.
Pregnancy, for me, was not an open invitation for all my favorite foods to throw an ongoing party in my belly. Each time I tested my limits, I was met with a spoiling surprise on the scale — sometimes four pounds in a week. I even came close to testing positive for gestational diabetes. It was a constant battle between my body and my plate.
Thankfully, my pregnancy was free from any “real” problems, and I embraced every second. Carrying my child was one of the most incredible experiences of my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
But it would have been nice to invite some of my sweet, salty friends to the party without worrying about cleaning up their mess the morning after.