Never a day where I didn’t feel guilty for overeating and what the scale would look like the next morning. Forever overweight and forever ashamed. I arrived at my new high-risk OB-GYN, the one I had to search for because my BMI alone made me automatically high risk.
No preexisting medical conditions, no concerning family history… just FAT. And before I could even wrap my head around the fact that I was growing an actual human being, my new doctor told me that because of my BMI, I should only gain 11 pounds over the next nine months. I was supposed to grow a whole ass baby, and only gain 11 pounds?
Historically, I could gain 11 pounds overnight if I put my mind to it! I thought pregnancy was the one time I could finally embrace getting bigger. I actually envisioned stepping on the scale at the doctor's office without fear, maybe even getting a little golf clap from my doctor for gaining a few pounds.
Like the prize pig at the county fair. I understood there were medical reasons behind the recommendation, but I couldn't help feeling defeated. Here I was, finally experiencing something I had dreamed about, and somehow, the conversation had already come back to my weight.
Even when my body was literally supposed to get bigger, there was a limit. And that shame quickly turned into anxiety. I'd spent my entire life fearing weight gain for myself, but now I was terrified it could hurt someone else: my baby.
Instead of embracing my growing body, I spent my first trimester afraid of what would happen if it grew too much. By week 12, stress and morning sickness had caused me to lose 10 pounds. I stepped on the scale at my next ultrasound, secretly excited and doing some quick math.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
