I was eating a piece of cream cheese with toast…

And I noticed how fat I’ve really gotten. I’m going to be brutally honest about it, too. From my first appointment to confirm pregnancy to my first OB appointment, I gained about ten pounds. From the first OB appointment to the second one, I gained another five pounds. So, we’re looking at a total of about fifteen pounds in the first trimester. Is this disgustingly insane? Yes. Is it absolutely the end of the world? Probably not.

Before I found out about the pregnancy I smoked pretty heavily and I drank rather often. The day I found out, both of those little habits stopped immediately. Now, these were things I’d done my entire adult life; luxuries I loved and indulged and enjoyed. But I’ve known as long as I’ve smoked that I’d quit when I had babies. In fact, anytime anyone commented/bitched about my smoking and asked when I’d quit, I would say, “When I have babies!” So, it ain’t no thing. Even at this point the doctor looks at me with a head-tilty thing and goes, “How is that going? Good for you…” and I don’t even say anything. It’s not commendable. What else am I going to do? It’s smoke, or damage my baby. There is really no choice here.

I digress. Perhaps I’m making excuses, but… I quit smoking, drinking, and everything that I’ve always considered the “norm” about my lifestyle. So, I gained fifteen pounds from slupees and fries? So be it. My liver is happy, and so are my lungs. Fat comes and goes, but babies are forever.