I came across my maternity book from the first pregnancy and in it I found some disturbing figures.
In 30 weeks of pregnancy (from Week 10 to Week 40), I gained a whopping whaling 30 kgs! Oh. Em. Effin. Gee!!
My weight was recorded at all my midwife or doctor appointments, so I could see the progression of the weight gain, and even during the earlier weeks when baby was quite small, I was piling on the pounds.
And I do know why. I ate like a pig. I was nowhere near as nauseous as sickly as this time around, so I ate whatever and whenever I wanted, justifying it with the "eating for two" mantra. Although I knew at the time this phrase was actually nonsense, what I didn't know was that the extra amount I needed to eat a day to handle mine and baby's energy needs was the equivalent of 1 to 2 slices of bread. Eek. I was eating at least an extra 1 or 2 loaves of bread, and that is not even an exaggeration.
It took a long and unhappy 4 years to start shedding that weight, and this time around I am determined to be much smarter. Prevention is key, I guess. I keep the old maternity book handy now, and when I feel myself losing the battle of the will, I take a glimpse at those weights *shudder* and try to make a better eating choice.
Don't get me wrong, I will eat cake, so help me God! Except now I schedule a day of the week when I will bake or buy what I am craving the most, and enjoy that with the family.
I know that by carrying this alien, I will get fat. But there's no need to get any fatter than necessary, right?