Yesterday I was weighed for my WIC appointment and I was at 206, putting me back at my pre-pregnancy weight. Keeping in mind that my adventures in weight loss had me skeptical about the exact number on the scale considering I had a full bladder, and had eaten breakfast, it was still encouraging. At least until the nutritionist sat down with me and admonished the weight gain. "You've gained five pounds in the last two and a half months." she said. They only want me to gain 15 pounds through the course of the entire pregnancy because of my already high starting weight, which is fine. She attributed my weight gain to the first trimester nausea being over, but really it's probably more because of my discovery of a local taco bar and my persistent pregnancy craving of chicken nuggets.
I have officially decided that I do not give a fuck. All the fucks are somewhere else, and I have none.
I'm going to concentrate on my blood sugar, keeping that where it needs to be and whatever weight I do or do not gain is my business with my body. To be honest, that's probably the best course of action to keep me sane. At my therapy session yesterday I broke down when explaining my struggles and anxieties with my blood sugar. "I can tell this puts a lot of pressure on you." she said. Understatement of the year. Ha ha.
Altogether yesterday wasn't a good day. I find that I look forward to my therapy sessions because I find it easier to talk there candidly, without picking and choosing my words the way I tend to do when talking with pretty much anyone else. I don't know if it's the environment, the fact that I genuinely feel at ease with my therapist, or my own expectations of needing to tell the truth when I'm there. Even though it's a bright hour in a sometimes cloudy day, talking that way leaves me emotionally exhausted.
Later that night Matt took me out on a date to a local cafe that we both enjoy. To be honest, I think he suggested we eat there because he'd asked for pasta for dinner but I didn't want to be confined to eating 1/2 cup of food for dinner when I was really and genuinely hungry. When we got there, he ordered a huge plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The first time we'd eaten there, I got the meatloaf and it was delicious. The last couple of times I tried the meatloaf, both after pregnancy, the gravy made me want to hurl. This time I got the chicken fried steak, sure that they would use white gravy because I've never had CFS without white gravy. It just kind of is part of the dish in my mind. Well, they use the same brown gravy from the meatloaf on it, and I had a hard time eating it. The eggs I ordered with it were kind of cold and super bland. Somehow it just kind of solidified the dull, looming feeling that I'd had all day and I started crying.
Matt said he felt responsible. When we ordered, I had asked if I should get that or an omelette, torn between two of the few low carb choices I had. He had said to go with the steak. I insisted he shouldn't feel bad because I would have ordered it anyway. He tried to get me to order something else in replacement or to get a dessert to offset the carbs I wasn't eating. I don't like to waste food or money so I ate what I could of the eggs and the steak, ate the biscuit that came with it and the spiced apples. We had planned to go to the movies afterwards but instead I asked to go home. We stayed in while I did homework and watched the debate.
I felt embarrassed that I had cried in the restaurant, mostly because I didn't even know why I was crying. At one point when I was arguing against ordering something different, Matt said, "I just want you to be happy." And I want to be happy, and to be honest I don't think I was crying because of the food or anything tangible. I get upset because I think I should be happy but I'm not. I have an amazingly supportive guy who loves me and spoils the crap out of me. I have so many things in our lives finally lining up to bring about a positive change, like the opportunity to focus on my goals without having to bust my ass for little pay just to help keep us alive. I have the one thing that I've always wanted - a child on the way and a loving relationship in which this child can grow. Why am I not happy?
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