Baby Fat

As of this morning, at 9 weeks & 4 days along, I have gained 2.2 lbs in the 5 weeks since I found out I was pregnant. My trusty 'What To Expect When You're Expecting' book (to be referenced as WTEWYE in the future, since typing the whole title out every time seems like it could get annoying) says that gaining 2-4 lbs in the first trimester is normal/fine/good/etc etc. So given the guidance of WTEWYE, I'm feeling pretty good.

Except:

Those 2.2 lbs have decided to stick together and head straight for my waist to stake their claim and, even at this early stage, separate me from half my wardrobe.

The strategy that other pounds over the course of my life have used to colonize my body has been different. "Let's divide and conquer!", they say. "I bet we could get 8 or maybe even 10 of us on board before she even really noticed what was happening - we just have to be smart about it!" And then the lead pound, already in residence - the one who's been around the block a time or two, who's seen other pounds come and go, who's fought to hang on and weathered the storm of brief stints of exercise, attempts to eat healthier, and even the occasional illness - greets the new pounds as they arrive with some advice: "Alright - don't gather all in one place. You! Macaroni & Cheese pound! You head for the legs. Oh stop your complaining...sure, you wanna be a star - you think the only way to get noticed is by heading for her rear end! But that's always the pound she's apt to try to get rid of first! If you want a long career, you lay low, spread out, and then hold on. You stay alive! No matter what occurs!" (okay, the lead pound doesn't really quote The Last of the Mohicans there at the end...but it was on TV the other night and Laura and I quite enjoyed reminiscing about the scene where Uncas is shown in dappled sunlight, gazing after Alice...my senior year of high school (and admittedly, many times in the years since then) my friend Marilee and I swooned about that scene and the heights of romance and destiny it conveyed. Sure, Uncas & Alice exchanged just a single sentence (if that??) and only a look or two, but isn't that what made it so potent?)

But anyway, as I was saying...the 2.2 pregnancy pounds I've acquired so far have a different strategy. They've hunkered down at my waist and are in this for the long haul. At first I tried to thwart the extra pounds. "Oh no ya don't!" says I, two weeks ago. "I am NOT succumbing to wardrobe depletion at only 8 weeks pregnant!" So I stubbornly wore the dark brown corduroy pants that I bought only last fall...and then halfway through the day was so uncomfortable that I had to undo the button so the waistband would stop cutting into me.

After that day, I went home & fashioned a snazzy waist band extender out of some elastic & an extra button from my craft drawer. This gem sort of works...but I spend a lot of time obsessively checking that my zipper isn't coming undone. So over this past week, I ceremonially went through my closet and said goodbye, hopefully not for too terribly long, to what seemed like a frighteningly large number of pairs of pants.

I understand that these 2.2 lbs are just the tip of the iceberg, and I understand that they're necessary and normal and blah blah blah. The reason this is so disturbing is that two months and one week into this journey called pregnancy, I have had to say farewell to some pretty standard cothing items. Standard as in: I wear them as part of my work wardrobe. Every week. Not quite on a strict rotation (i.e. Wednesday isn't officially designated as brown corduroy pants day)...but pretty close. I really thought I wouldn't have to deal with figuring out the clothing situation until at least after the first trimester...maybe even not until 4 months along. Now just seems too soon!

You see, since about age 16, my weight & my size have been a fairly regular topic of thought. Up until age 31, the numbers on the scale increased pretty steadily as the years had gone by. After Bret & I started dating, the numbers on the scale decreased - my theory is that my emotional self decided to deal with the sometimes angst of the first year of dating and the "does he really love me? enough to want to marry me? WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG??" questions by telling my physical self that either it wasn't hungry, or that my metabolism should step it up to relieve some of the stress...because without any concerted effort from my conscious self, I ended up losing about 30 lbs. And then I like to joke that when I got engaged, Bret gave me a 5 lb ring, because between engagement and wedding (a mere 3 1/2 months) I put on 5 lbs. And then apparently the wedding band weighed another 5 lbs, because after a mere week and a half honeymoon and a bit of the rest of the summer, I gained 5 more (I will admit that I revelled in the freedom of what I call "vacation eating" though, during our honeymoon). So the moral of this particular digression is that after losing a bunch of weight, the year & a half of marriage before becoming pregnant saw me gain back a total of about 14 lbs (no I can't round up to 15!! every precious distinct pound matters when you've paid attention to how much you don't like your weight pretty much your whole life!). But, miraculously, I was still managing to fit into most of the same clothes I was wearing at my lowest weight, pre-engagement (see explanation above about the divide & conquer strategy of pounds).

So then, what is the point of this very long blog post? The point is that 2.2 lbs have sent things topsy-turvy in a way that 14 lbs couldn't. And I'm not very happy about it. And if this is only the beginning, how am I going to deal with the remaining (hopefully only) 25 lbs over the next 7 months?? And most importantly, since I hardly have any pants left in my closet: what am I going to wear tomorrow??