The Battle of the Pregnancy Bulge Begins. When I first got pregnant, I was cautious of weight gain. Come Month 8 when I was eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s a day, this caution was obviously thrown to the wind. Now that Owen has hit the 18th week of life, it is fast becoming clear to me that calorie reduction is a priority. After moving, I had the opportunity to unpack my pre-maternity clothing which now sit in my closet mocking me with such comments as “Hey fattie, remember me, your favorite gray pants? Remember how good you felt when you wore me with that black cardigan and white camisole with the black maryjanes?” And I collapse in tears and say, “I do remember gray pants, and I do love you. I want to be reunited with you so that we can dance the favorite girl outfit dance.” Needless to say, that unpacking and closet organization leveled me with Stage 5 depression (only to be followed by Stage 6 - Jump Out the Window). Now that some time has past and I am adjusted to my working schedule, I can finally focus on myself and the whittling away of the pregnancy pounds. Honestly, I would have to say that I was under the assumption that after I gave birth, I would be breastfeeding, and breastfeeding with its 500 calories burned a day would make for fast weight loss. What no one told me was that when you breastfeed you become a ravenous chocoholic sweet seeking fiend. Before when I ate a piece of dark chocolate I would say “Oh my, was that good. Yummers.” And this would occur maybe once a month. Now in my breastfeeding psychosis I seek out chocolate with planning bordering on stalking. A typical day in the mind of one breastfeeding mother: the setting, after lunch:

“Hmmmm, I’m still hungry. Why the hell am I always hungry? What do I want? Oh you know what you want, don’t try to fool me. Okay, chocolate. Let’s go to See’s. Oh yes, let us go to the magical land of dark chocolate and tasty goodness. (Skipping, I arrive). Jesus, why is this line so long? (Tapping feet). God, this lady is going to take forever, I hate her. Fucking bitch. Why yes, you can help me chocolate giving girl - I would like one dark chocolate chip truffle. And yes I know it cost 58 cents, I only get it every freaking day - here is the exact change. And yes I will take that free sample. Oh heavenly goodness, sweet chocolate truffle melt upon my tongue and satisfy the part of my brain screaming for you with the desparation of 40 year old with no kids. I love you, I love you, I love you. I need to cry in happiness.”

Needless to say, eating chocolate is not going to help anyone lose the thunder in their thighs or that rocking double chin. But it must be done. And I know I have said this before, but I am employing a never fail mental tactic that will allow me the loss of some weight, and that my friends is the “Maggot Materialization Method”.

Although I am a fan of all things insect, there is one thing that I cannot stand due to an unfortunate event in the 15th year of life, and that thing is maggots. I warn that this is not for the faint of stomach. It was summer of 1989. I sat on my dad’s recliner watching Bob Barker on the Price is Right. I was chilly, even though it was summer and the temperature was probably in the 70s. I ran down to the basement and procured a blanket, running back upstairs so as not to miss the always exciting game of Plinko. About 5 minutes in, I got really itching. I then realized that I was not itching, but that there was movement under the blanket. Horrified, it was at this point, I had what they in the psychiatry profession call a dissociative break. I took off the blanket only to discover about 100 maggots on me, the blanket, and the chair. I screamed ripping off my clothes, brushing off the larva and running to the shower. Eventually I recovered, but never again was I the same. Even typing these words creates in me a sense of utter dread that may lead to ultimate vomiting. I hate maggots, I despise them. The name alone makes me queasy. So, in an effort to banish the pounds from my frame, whenever I see something bad for me, I will picture 1,000 creepy crawling maggots on said food. And I will not eat it, believe me. In fact, I may not be able to eat for a good 3 hours after. But it is a proven way for me to attain the goal of my gray pants and I having a day at the park complete with twirling and a possible somersault. We can only hope.