We met Dr. Dwight today, your Obgyn.  He’s the man that will be catching you when you enter into this world and I can’t think of a better person for the job.  The difference in demeanor and warmth between him and the other (who shall remain nameless from now on) is like night and day.  From the second we walked into the welcoming waiting room until we were ushered into the more sterile yet still warm somehow doctor room where we were to be examined, we both couldn’t believe how much better we felt.  We just knew we were in a more compassionate environment.  It leaked through the walls. And we hadn’t even met the famous Dr. Dwight yet.  Dad and I made each other laugh while I sat there naked under a hospital gown anxious and curious.  Then it happened. A light knock on the door and sunshine entered the room in the form of a tall and thin grey haired angel in scrubs.  He gave us this gigantic smile, shook my hand while introducing himself, and while shaking Dad’s hand, said, “Do you two know each other?”  I laughed and replied, “Only intimately.”

Eating has become the bane of my existence.  In theory it seems so lovely.  I always thought that once I got pregnant, that was, IF I ever got pregnant, I could finally eat all those delicious out-of-bound foods I’d been admiring from afar for so long.  Things like macaroni and cheese, powder coated doughnuts, a juicy steak, and pop-tarts.  And although bread and cheese was all that satiated me for the first trimester the mere thought of it now makes me feel woozy. My whole relationship with food has changed in this trimester.  It’s not that I’m nauseous all the time, like I was, it’s that nothing tastes right when I eat it.  It’s the strangest thing. I’ll think I am craving something, like a fresh salmon salad, but the second I take the first bite a trigger goes off and I can’t take another.  I’ve spent many a wonderful meal that your Papa has so lovingly created for us forcing myself to keep chewing for fear of offending.  But it’s not the food that is the problem.  His cooking is divine.  And it could be at a 5-star restaurant, it doesn’t matter, I can’t enjoy the food I eat, most of the time.  I guess it’s what they call, Food Aversion.

Clue:  early on my dear friend six months pregnant with her second child warned me, “ORDER BLAND” she said.  “You might think you want that spicy exotic sounding thing but trust me, if  you order it, you will regret it.”  And she was right.  It’s like my stomach and head have lost contact with each other and one wants one thing while the other wants something completely different.  And there is no communication going on. They’ve gone rogue.  I hate it. I feel like I am wasting money eating out. And eating in is just as complicated.  It’s incredibly frustrating as I used to LOVE food.  And now it just doesn’t taste right.  And don’t even get me started on dark leafy greens.  Used to be my favorite thing to eat.  Now it just makes me gag. So strange.

I’ve heard pregnant women talk about cravings as if this can determine the sex of your baby.  Sweets means a girl and salty means a boy.  Well, I craved cheese and bread the first trimester and this trimester I just cycled through a strange case of gummi bears, blow pops, and popsicles.  I haven’t eaten those three items in almost 15 years, I’d say. But I think today was the end of the sugar run.  I am starting to get massive headaches and a strange rash all over my chest and back along with little bumps on my face.  Not fun at all.  My last blow pop didn’t even taste that good.  Grape.

Tomorrow I vow to begin anew.  To attempt a more balanced diet. I think I can now. A bland balanced diet void of sugar and dairy.  Nothing really good ever comes from consuming sugar and dairy, now then does it? But I’ve heard a lot of good that comes from avoiding the two.  I don’t want you, Squirt, to feel all hopped up on the sugar junk or itchy and constipated from the dairy. I want you feeling the best you can possibly feel. And I want to make the best breast milk I possibly can for you.  It’s my job. To be healthy.

I can do it. Even if it makes me puke.

I love you more than organic pink peppermint ice cream.

Mom