THIS is one of the reasons why I love the Jezebel.com.
A while back I posted an entry about the new trend of Mommyrexia, mothers to be working to stay as thin as possible during their pregnancies. We have been seeing a great deal of this from celebrities during while carrying and then the great “post baby bikini body reveal”. Well Writer Tracy Moore wrote a hilarious essay about “Pulling a Deuce” Or hitting 200 pounds while pregnant. It is a great read- funny and honest, the best part is when she talks about why she ate the way she did, the way it felt- “good like a warm blanket” and her relationship to food during this period. It made me think of our discussions about disordered eating with Nutritionist Natalie Gauneshelli. I guess Moore has revealed that pregnancy can in fact create disordered eating patterns in expectant mothers due either to emotional stress and worry or the idea that you are “eating for 2”. It’s a great read!! enjoy!
Tracy Moore — As I waddled into the 7th month of pregnancy, one day at work a friend/co-worker/mother of three came up to chat. As she eyed my growing heft, she pulled me aside and lowered her voice. “So…” she began with a smirk, glancing around quickly to ensure we were speaking privately. “You gonna pull a deuce?” Um, say what?
“A deuce?” I asked, confused. “Is that like…dropping a deuce? Because remarkably I have not been constipated at all this whole— ”
“No, are you gonna go over 200 pounds?” she asked.
“Ohhhhh,” I said, enlightened. “Wait — that’s, like, a thing?”
Apparently known only in some circles of pregnant women and the men and women who serve them (food), pulling a deuce means packing ‘em on while pregnant such that you reach a nice cement-like number that theretofore had not figured into your numerological inner narrative, much less your bathroom scale. Hit it or quit it — you just crossed over.
A normal and safe weight gain during pregnancy is 25 to 35 pounds (though if you are over 200 pounds when you get pregnant, you may in fact not gain a thing). This is a bit of sobering medical advice contrasted with the cultural pregnancy programming of buckets of ice cream, “eating for two” and “going apeshit on that buffet.” I had gone apeshit, apparently, and blew past that “normal and safe” number. Funny — it turns out “eating for two” doesn’t really mean two PEOPLE, but rather, eating for the appetite of a normal person plus one small, unhappy rodent.
Weight is, obviously, a relative thing; one woman’s healthy number can be another woman’s cross to bear. For me, with my resting pre-pregnancy weight was significantly below 200, this “deuce” seemed such a leap that I didn’t even consider it. Until, of course, my 8th month of pregnancy rolled up on a bitch and the checkup revealed I was already at 195 pounds. With an entire month still to go. Guess what? You gain even more weight at the very end.
Pregnant And Pulling A Deuce, Because I Can
Tracy Moore — As I waddled into the 7th month of pregnancy, one day at work a friend/co-worker/mother of three came up to chat. As she eyed my growing heft, she pulled me aside and lowered her voice. “So…” she began with a smirk, glancing around quickly to ensure we were speaking privately. “You gonna pull a deuce?” Um, say what?
“A deuce?” I asked, confused. “Is that like…dropping a deuce? Because remarkably I have not been constipated at all this whole— ”
“No, are you gonna go over 200 pounds?” she asked.
“Ohhhhh,” I said, enlightened. “Wait — that’s, like, a thing?”
Apparently known only in some circles of pregnant women and the men and women who serve them (food), pulling a deuce means packing ‘em on while pregnant such that you reach a nice cement-like number that theretofore had not figured into your numerological inner narrative, much less your bathroom scale. Hit it or quit it — you just crossed over.
A normal and safe weight gain during pregnancy is 25 to 35 pounds (though if you are over 200 pounds when you get pregnant, you may in fact not gain a thing). This is a bit of sobering medical advice contrasted with the cultural pregnancy programming of buckets of ice cream, “eating for two” and “going apeshit on that buffet.” I had gone apeshit, apparently, and blew past that “normal and safe” number. Funny — it turns out “eating for two” doesn’t really mean two PEOPLE, but rather, eating for the appetite of a normal person plus one small, unhappy rodent.
Weight is, obviously, a relative thing; one woman’s healthy number can be another woman’s cross to bear. For me, with my resting pre-pregnancy weight was significantly below 200, this “deuce” seemed such a leap that I didn’t even consider it. Until, of course, my 8th month of pregnancy rolled up on a bitch and the checkup revealed I was already at 195 pounds. With an entire month still to go. Guess what? You gain even more weight at the very end.
Like any rational being, I turned my wrath toward the Internet, where, per usual, my search for clear-eyed facts about what was happening to this no-longer-mine body yielded article after chirpy article admonishing that I shouldn’t be eating more than 100 to 300 calories extra a day. As if that were actually within the realm of possibility. Those 100 calories was two insultingly measly cups of carrots, and that I could bet my expanded ass they wouldn’t even be salted.
Nowhere did it report, for instance, the truth — that I’d been taken hostage by a food beast. That my hunger would, at times, make me cartoonishly ravenous.
It’s not like I was eating everything in sight since the second I’d felt the queasy uncertainty of pregnancy take hold. And I actually ate overwhelmingly better — more well-rounded, nourishing meals — than I ever had. But I did go easy on myself on the portions, and added dessert whenever the urge struck me, which turned out to be pretty much all the time. I had two snacks throughout the day as well. It helped me keep my energy up at work, but the snacks were such a frequent high point in my day that I’d begun to imagine giving birth and my baby being composed entirely of pepperoni slices, pickled okra, cheddar cheese cubes and Triscuits.