Yesterday I did something that I swore that I would never, ever, ever in a million years do ... I brought a scale into the house.

It is no secret that I have food issues. I'm a comfort eater (I know, huge shocker, right?) and I know it, but I am also aware that if I start analyzing the food that goes into my mouth in more than a half-arsed "oh, yeah, diabetic so veggies good, carbs bad, protein ok, lets try to avoid having flat out sugar every single day" way then I will start obsessing about calories and carb conversions and then I'll get self conscious about eating in front of people and it will be a repeat of that year in college where I didn't eat a single meal in front of another person and ended up taking every single meal home in a to-go box when I went out with friends.

Yeah ... I freely admit I'm neurotic.

Anyway, I am fat and I know that and I don't particularly feel the need to know the exact amount of fat that I am in poundage thanks, the general gist is enough for me. I knew I was losing weight because my pants needed a belt and I couldn't wear my wedding ring to bed anymore because it kept falling off. Again, didn't need to know the exact weight loss, didn't care. Weight coming off equals good for health reasons and also for getting annoying doctor off my back so that was good enough for me.

However, it turns out that you're supposed to monitor your weight super close during a pregnancy (or so I've been lead to believe) and those weekly (and sometimes twice weekly) weigh-ins at the hospital have started to take their insidious toll upon my psyche and suddenly I'm keeping track of weight loss and gain in the tenths of a pound increments and that annoys the hell out of me because now I have to stare at everything on my plate and think "Is this too carby? Will I get enough vitamins for the kid? Am I getting enough calories? Should I eat this piece of whole wheat bread because bread is a carb and carbs are bad but also the baby needs whole wheaty things and screw it all I want a Swiss Cake Roll."

Do not even get me started on the fiasco that was my last discussion with my OB in which she added "if you think you're going to have a heavier or carb filled meal, just inject some more insulin" to the list of CAN THIS GET ANY MORE CONFUSING?

So, that's why there's an evil scale in my bathroom that I already hate and that seems to be insisting that I weight five pounds more than I did last week at the doctor's office (which was about four pounds more than a week and a half before that, but I keep telling myself that my thick soled heavy sandals are at least three pounds of that, damnit), which wouldn't be so bad if I could just see it as a number that means nothing on its own and is only to be used to gauge losses and gains. Except the scale lies to me and keeps changing its mind by a few pounds every time I step on it, so I have no idea if I'm going up or down or staying even, and I'm seriously considering tossing it in the trash after only a day.

In happier news, there are now Swiss Cake Rolls in the house.

In less happy news, my thighs are covered in red marks and bruises that are mostly faded to yellow thanks to my insulin shots. Also, the kid is still dead set on its campaign to cripple me and has upped the ante to include making it nearly impossible to sit through a two and a half hour movie and still be able to stand up after and setting my thigh muscles on fire randomly as I sleep.

I am pretty sure I'm going to give birth to some slightly milder version of Rosemary's baby.

Tenth wedding anniversary is coming up in a few short weeks, and then near the end of July I am planning to make my first plane trip since high school to head back to Kansas for a week to visit friends and family (if everything works out, still in the planning stages of that one). Also, I have a fic that is SUPER overdue, and I need to decide if I'm going to sign up for the [community profile] sshg_exchange, which I really want to do but I'm also looking at the next few months of my life and wondering how much time I'll have to write between doctors visits and homicidal fetus attacks and insulin issues. I've got until the 21st (I think) to decide, so I've got a few days still before I have to commit one way or the other.


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Miss Miah


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