You are what you eat.

Ever heard that phrase?  

In that case I must have eaten a pile of crazy hormone laced lard sandwiches.

For two.

There is a fierce, rabid hunger lion in my stomach just waiting to attack anything that smells remotely like bread, potatoes or cheese. He hangs out with his friend the “crazy pregnant rage tiger” inside me just waiting on somebody to open the cage.

There are lots of girls out there who will tell you that there was no perceptible difference in their appetite once getting knocked up. They are probably the same girls on “I didn’t know I was pregnant”.  I’d like to punch those girls in the face.

My weight gain started immediately. A trip to the doctor around 12 weeks revealed that I’d gained 17 lbs instead of the suggested 3-5 for the first trimester.  Oops. At this point I clearly wasn’t fitting in my skinny jeans and went to my favorite store to buy a new pair.

Having never explored sizes beyond the single digits, I made the mistake of asking the 90 pounder behind the counter what the biggest possible size was:

“um, I think like a 12” (accompanied by a look of judgement).

I immediately felt the need to tell her it’s because I’m pregnant, and I wasn’t sure how big I would get, and I really like the jeans, so I just wanted to know what the biggest size was… just in case.

To which she replied, “eww, do you really think you’ll get THAT big?”

Me: “um, I don’t know I mean…I guess it could depend on the baby and…”

Her: “because you could like try the elliptical or something.”

And…. she unlocked the tiger cage.

You know in the hulk how he turns all green and is like “hulk smash ahhh” and just destroys stuff? In that moment I wanted to rip the cash register out of the counter, smash it through a display case, take her by the hair, throw her into a wall, rip something with my teeth and SCREAM: “ahhhhahahahahaa who’s laughing now, ahhhhahahahaahahahahahaahoih;oewiulsjdhlhghuohg!!”

Here’s the funny thing about the pregnant rage tiger: it’s like a camelion.  As quickly as the rage was there, it was gone, and the rage tiger turned into a fluffy little kitten. (meow). One single tear dripped silently from my eye and I RAN out of the store sobbing.

Luckily (maybe not so much for him, ha) my husband was waiting outside the store for me.

Me: “I wanted pants… (sob sob…) but I’m fat… and… (sob sob …) I’ll never be pretty again… and (sob sob…) what if.. what if I have to throw all my clothes away because I’m huge forever… (and sob sob…) what if the baby doesn’t think I’m pretty (sob sob…) and that girl... she said I should work out… but I feel so tired… I’m so tired… soooo tired (sob sob sob).”

My husband (calmly, one hand on each of my cheeks staring me straight in the eyes): “Sweetie. You’re not fat. You’re pregnant, and you’re beautiful. You will bring a little person into this world who will love you as much as I do - no matter what.  Wanna go get a smoothie?”

Did I mention how crazy in love I am with the zoo keeper?