I went to the doctor for my 16 week check up this week. After sitting in the waiting room for 45 minutes before being called back (the doctor was delivering a baby or something. Likely story), I ended up seeing a nurse practitioner instead. Which was fine by me. My appointment was over my lunch break so I just needed to get my butt back to work.
I stepped on the scale and thought, “Huh” when I saw the number. It was one pound less than the number was last time. Of course I remember. I’m a girl, right? So into the exam room we went and she recorded my weight. I had to sit there for another good 10 minutes before the nurse came in to see me.
As I sat there I thought about that one pound I had actually lost since my last appointment. Maybe I was wearing heavy clothes or jewelry last time. Nope, I realized. I was actually wearing the exact same outfit as I was 4 weeks ago. Yes, I remember. Again, I’m a girl, right?
Finally, the nurse came in and we got to hear the heartbeat and all the fun stuff that goes along with these 15 minute appointments every month. She reviewed all my information and said, “You need to tell me how on earth you managed to lose a pound when your last appointment was before Christmas.”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “I ate a lot of Christmas cookies.”
She said, “Well that just tells me that you’re expending more energy than you’re putting in. Why don’t you tell me about that.”
“Well,” I said, “I have an almost-3-year-old at home. I never get to sit down. He asks for the food right off my plate. Plus I work full time. This pregnancy has been a lot different than the last one.”
“Well you need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” she said. “Slow down and think about what you’re eating every day and make sure it’s enough.”
Then she wrote in my chart that we discussed nutrition. Lovely. I drove back to work and called Derek. I felt like crying. Like I was failing my little baby already.
I once joked on a very stressed out day that this baby would probably have 3 eyes because I was not being nearly as crazy about what I ate and drank as I was with Riley. Now when I think about it, it’s not funny. This baby deserves the same attention to detail and care that I gave myself when I was pregnant the first time around. So sorry, Riley, but no you cannot have some of my sandwich or water or definitely, not my cookie. That’s for me and your brother or sister. It’s high time you learned to share.