C is for Cookie!

Every month, I go to the doctor...sometimes because I am klutzy, or sick, but mostly because my OB-GYN likes to check up on me and make sure I am still pregnant.

There are three people in the group I see: one very young doctor whom I am a little leery of (I think he is younger than me...I can't tell. Freaks me out.), one very nice nurse practitioner, who has a perpetual sympathetic look on her face (she gives me hugs all the time), and a Veteran Baby-Catcher (I believe he has eight children).

The reason I bring this up is because my pregnancy book says that I should not be alarmed (I think that is code for "offended.") if my doctor brings up my weight.

None of them ever have...until today.

As I was shooting the breeze with Dr. VBC, he looked at my chart and said,

"Your weight gain has been really good this pregnancy. Good job!"
I grimaced, and nodded.

I wish he hadn't said that. I mean, really...weight isn't something you throw around lightly with a pregnant lady. It's like when I see those ads that bombard you with blinking words that say things like "DO YOU HAVE EXCESS BELLY FAT??!!?!??!" Yes, yes, I know it is baby, but still...

I went home and proceeded to reward myself by eating a candy bar. And some cookies. And some cheesy crackers.

Then I thought,
"Gee, I think I am too tired to make dinner, and since I have been doing so well, heck! Let's go to Taco Bell!"

I suppose I could have chosen a worse place to go.

But did it stop there? Oh, no, no, no, my friends!

Since Thursdays are Jeremy's Fridays, he asked me if I wanted to rent a movie (We watched "Duplicity." WATCH IT!). I said sure, and he then asked me to look up what was at Red Box, and I replied weakly,

"Why don't you just go to Albertson's and look? You can pick up some cookies while you are there..."

Needless to say, at some point I was only eating cookies on principle, not because they actually tasted good.
I feel like a whale. Bleh...