I got a call last week from the Hospital in which a very nice lady called Carol firmly disabused me of my notion that perhaps my baby was just a very big baby, weighing nearly 20 kilograms at 8 months cooking, and therefore my pregnancy weight gain was nothing to worry about.
Disappointing.
I was A Fool, as I so often am, and took the call on speaker with my husband close enough to hear every word. This means I couldn’t even tell him, “no my sweet pudding pie, they told me I should be eating MORE carbs”.
Disappointing.
Now he watches me closely with a general “who will think of the baby” demeanor and constant aggravating pep talks about how almonds are filling (a lie) while secretly purchasing and consuming Allens snakes (he has been caught in the act twice). Worse, he has hidden the Coles 40% chocolate chip, chocolate chip cookies, which are not only the best cookies on earth, especially when stale, but perhaps the only bright light in my otherwise tragic existence.
Disappointing.
For that reason you will observe me starting my day (if you are my neighbour, who I suspect does) by rising at some horrific hour (“7 am”) in order to measure out half a cup of all bran, mix in a few almonds and strawberries, and cover with milk diluted with My Tears. This replaces the fresh-out-of-the-oven croissant from the Bakery I used to eat for breakfast every day, justifying the nutritional content by telling myself “it’s French”.
Disappointing.
Very Disappointing.
lady user of the internet 