I haven’t written much about being pregnant. While I like to play practical and no-nonsense, I’ve got a superstitious streak. Talking about the baby-to-be, I fret, could jinx it.
But here I am, 14 weeks today. That means I’m officially in my second trimester. Yippee! Baby Center tells me that my unborn child is now the size of a lemon – or, in my 3 y.o.’s parlance, a lemony. And I am starving.
Starving!
Do you hear me? Is there a reason there’s not a pepperoni stromboli and a vanilla milkshake available, right now? Do you really expect me to make do with just one bag of Fritos?
Here I am, a former food nazi who flipped everything over to check for trans fats, sugar and other taboo ingredients before eating it, and I just went to Burger King for lunch.
Surely if I were Angelina Jolie, with chefs and assistants at my beck and call, I could figure out a better way to feed my growing appetite without resorting to super-fatty foods handed to me through a drive-thru window. But alas, I’m my own assistant and chef.
Should I be eating vegetables? Of course. I know that. But vegetables taste off to my palate these days. Do the scallions in the cream cheese on my bagel count towards my daily servings?
I’m dealing with my voracious appetite by trying to keep only the most innocent of foods in the house, and so despite my indulgences, they are limited. And I’ve only gained eight pounds during my first trimester. Given my starting weight (136 pounds on a 5′4 frame, if you’re curious), this is perfectly fine.
But so help me, that little Lemony growing within wants Cold Stone Creamery.
And I’ll bet my 3 y.o. does, too.
