to make a prodigy, you need cooperation.
(Don't send me your answers. This is just a little way to expand your horizons. Honest.)
I have discovered the secret to weight loss: get pregnant.
We went to the doctor's office today. The appointment was basically to hear the heartbeat again--very strong, thanks--but the interesting part came when the nurse took my vitals: she weighed me and wrote the number down. Then she compared it with the number above it.
"Are you eating?" she asked me.
"Four to six times a day," I told her.
She then took my blood pressure. Then decided to take it again, with the other arm. Then decided to get another b.p. cuff altogether, because the number she was getting with the first one was too low. The number she got with the second one was also pretty low. I mentioned that I've been light-headed.
Then I retched.
She said I shouldn't still be this nauseous at this point and the doctor could give me drugs.
The doctor came in and took a look at my weight numbers. He wanted to know if I've been eating too. I said I had been--at least four times a day. And I'm still not exercising. I still have an upset stomach and I'm nauseous, I said, but I'm not throwing up.
But I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight, after 12 (14) weeks of pregnancy. I lost 3 pounds between this visit and last, and another 3 pounds between the last visit and the one before. Evidently this is not what they look for in a first trimester, especially when I haven't been physically ill a lot and reportedly I'm eating. (I am! I swear!)
He told me to write down everything I'm eating every day and come in again next week to show him the records. I assume I will get some kind of demerit for eating as many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as I have been, but I have been eating them. He didn't want to prescribe drugs for the nausea: he wanted me to continue with the regimen of B6 and maybe a little Unisom.
We left the office and headed back to the car. We had to take the stairwell for one floor, which turned out to be a bad idea--there was some strong smell in there (not urine--mildew, I think) that Darin couldn't smell but which totally overwhelmed me: I started retching uncontrollably once we were in the parking lot. I couldn't walk more than a few feet without doubling over. Then, finally, in the words of a Regency romance, I cast up my accounts in the corner. (Always, by the way, a sign that a young lady is increasing.)
"Just after we told him you hadn't thrown up more than 4 or 5 times total," Darin said.
He asked if I wanted to go back to the doctor's office; I said no. He asked if I was hungry, and I said no, I didn't think so, but the nausea is always worse when I'm hungry so I probably really was. We ate at Bombay Palace in Beverly Hills, which was pretty good but scarily empty (meaning it's either got a bad reputation or it's a Mafia front).
We stopped at the grocery store on the way home to buy milk and bread. It dawned on me (yet again) as to why we never have food around any more: I never go to the grocery store any more. I can't stand the idea of being around that much food.
The answer to yesterday's question: Andre Agassi and Serena Williams won the US Tennis Open Male and Female Singles Titles (respectively) this past weekend.
I asked Darin in the car on the way home, "Can we force our children to become tennis prodigies?"
"No."
"Well, can we let Fernando force them to become golf prodigies?"
"No."
"You're not really being very supportive in this whole prodigy thing."
 |
 |
 |
 |
Copyright 1999 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com