Fat and Pregnant, or Fat and Fat

It was Oyster-Fest time in my sweet little town today. The plaza was crammed with booths from every imaginable restaurant in the area grilling and saucing and BBQing and otherwise preparing delicious oysters. The plaza was also crammed with people wanting to spend their entire month's income on eating the delicious little buggers. And then there was me, pregnant as can be, not wanting to expose my little to kicker to the nasty food poisoning that is sure to lurk where oysters have been sitting in the sun all day. It probably would have been fine, I was there at the early part of the festival, and the sun didn't come out until later. I figure he gets so much caffeine in his system that he really doesnt need any more stresses.

I went with my cute, skinny Asian roommate, see:
She looks cute in photos no matter what. And she is so bloody small. Being cute and Asian and small and always looking good in photos no matter what, she assumed that am like she is, so I finally relented and let her take a photo of me. Bad idea me. See:

It was a bad, bad, idea. Now I just feel fat. I felt beautiful. Now, fat. Ugly. Horrid. I want to say if I actually look like that, I will never leave the house again, except that just isn't realistic. I wan to stop eating, but that isn't bloody realistic either.

You see, I have a powerful hunger. I could eat my roommate, and still be hungry. Nothing I do satisfies my powerful hunger. My doctor told me on Tuesday in response to my question about not gaining weight so fast, "It's all a matter of portion control." Thanks. I'd like to see him control his portions when faced with the hungers of pregnancy. Yet somehow I am surrounded by beautiful, skinny pregnant women. So portion control it will have to be. (eating only one roommate at a sitting) And walking my cellulite-y butt every day. And never ever letting Joy take another picture of me again ever. At least until a year after the baby comes out.

And by the way: the only reason I posted that picture is because I am confident that J9 is the only person who will ever see it. And if she sees me looking fat and fat, she will still love me.

(I used to have collar bones! AAAack!) I love you J9!

I love bread!

It's really, truly, great stuff. And this last batch came out pretty well. Few things in life are better than fresh home baked bread with butter and honey. I now have two gigantic loaves of bread to eat. (One of them is actually almost gone, how did that happen? Oh yes, the butter and honey...) Bran's out of town, so it's up to the roommate and myself. A good quality in husbands and roomates is a healthy appreciation of one's cooking genius. I am a lucky girl. (but not as lucky as they are)

Aida and the Baking of Bread

If Brandon was amenable, and if Skippy were a girl, I think I might name her Aida. But the husband isn't amenable, and we both have a strong feeling that the little kicker is a boy. So the chances of having a Skippy-Aida are pretty slim.

Listening to this opera makes my heart do somersaults. It isn't the only one that does this, but it's far and away my favorite. I keep telling myself that I should listen to some of the other operas I have on my computer, but at least for now, it's looking like Skip's going to come out with Aida memorized.

As I listen I am finishing a 3-day bread project. It has white flour in it. Usually when I bake bread it's of the 100% whole wheat variety, because that's what I like and I'm not half bad at making it. This one has 10 cups of white and 2 of dark rye, so we'll see. It's experimental... It's very pretty, but it's just rising so far. I think this is the first bread I've baked since falling pregnant, and it makes me very happy, particularly with Maria Callas singing in the background. (Although if I was being honest, I would admit that it's the men singers who make my heart do flip-flops.)

Baby Update:

The last ultrasound showed that my placenta is low, so they are going to do another one in about a month, to see if I can still have the baby the old-fashioned way. What this means to me is not the possibility of a rather messy death, but another chance to see if it's a Daniel-Ulysses or an Un-Aida. YAY!

Yesterday I went to my first prenatal yoga class, and it had me feeling almost human for the rest of the day. I was actually able to move my cumbersome belly in ways that felt good. And seeing beautiful girls with bellies twice as big as mine made me feel like maybe I can get through this without turning into the biggest bellied pregnant woman in the history of anything. (People can be real asses about making pregnant women feel fat.) ("So is that baby due anytime now?" "There's no way you're making it to September with that belly!") (fuck-heads) The point of this is that my belly was put back into perspective, and while bigger than it was pre- 26 week old Skippy, it really isn't that big yet.

Beet Soup

My wonderful friend J9 mentioned that she'd like to try one new recipe a week, to keep the culinary creative juices flowing. That sounded like a plan to me, so I tried one last night. It was simple, it was easy, it was yummy. It was a pretty shade of red... and I got to use my new immersion blender for the first time.

Then I made super yummy brownies with lots of fresh farmer's market super ripe strawberries baked in.