It was a strange and bazaar but happy mystery. Who ever heard of losing weight when you’re pregnant? No one I knew. Still don’t. But, believe it or not, that is precisely what happened. When I became pregnant with my first child, my husband’s and my genes suggested that this would be a big baby. My husband weighed over nine pounds at birth and his mother was just five feet tall and weighed in at about one hundred pounds. I weighed eight and a half pounds and my mother was also five feet and weighed a bit more. I was five feet five (the giant of the family) and I just knew that this would be a behemoth baby. (It was a guesstimate.) I also knew that it would be more difficult to naturally deliver a bigger baby than a smaller one. No dummy me. Thus, I embarked on a serious but sensible diet. I was determined not to become gigantic and face the resulting consequences of starving to lose all those extra pounds..
My obstetrician, an extraordinary woman who had earned her
MD in the 1930’s which made her a genius in my world since hardly any women
were admitted to medical schools at that time, had no problem with my culinary
program. Her only mandate: Drink lots of
milk. Now in those days (this was the
late ‘50’s), there were two types of milk:
whole milk and chalk euphemistically labeled “skimmed.” The latter was totally vile so I mixed half
whole milk with half chalk and found I could actually drink it. I gradually changed the proportions so at the
end of this experiment, the chalk tasted almost good. Happily, years later the dairy industry
finally figured out that no one liked chalk milk and thus was born 1% and 2%
low fat milk. A true milestone in
American ingenuity.
It was a great pregnancy after the first couple of throw up months. I had no limitations and no problems. Was never hungry (never had a yen for pickles and ice-cream) and no one could tell I was pregnant till my sixth month so I didn’t need maternity clothes early on. That was most acceptable. The first clue that I was gaining weight was my waistline disappeared. It could have been worse.
By the time this adorable baby girl arrived, I had gained fourteen pounds. The day after she was born, I had lost twenty-four pounds. “How did that happen?” I asked my doctor. “Have no idea,” she responded. The baby, incidentally, was not starved and weighed in at six pounds twelve ounces – a respectably sized baby who literally gained weight in the hospital. Of course in those days, before the HMO blitz of evicting new mothers with their babies by the second midnight after delivery, a post-delivery hospital stay was a week. That was extremely civilized. My obstetrician’s comment was: “No reason to rush home. Relax. You’ll have plenty to do when you leave.” Wise, wise words.
My next pregnancy, four years later, was not as pleasant. Major understatement. This, too, is not typical. Normally, the second pregnancy is easier. But who said I was normal? If you saw the film ”Auntie Mame” and remember the hilarious Agnes Gooch’s pregnancy (and if you haven’t seen it, rent it), you would know what I looked like. I felt as though a giant watermelon had been glued onto my abdomen. When I sat down, getting up was a major obstacle. I was beached. It was beyond uncomfortable. I remember being in a supermarket obviously “in that way” when an elderly lady kindly smiled at me and said: “I see you’re going to have a boy.” She was bang on right. The old wives tale maintains that if one carries round, it will be a girl; if you carry all up front, it will be a boy. I followed that old wives tale to a tee.
It was not an easy pregnancy. At the beginning of my eighth month, I couldn’t digest food. After I ate. I immediately ran to the bathroom and up-chugged everything. If this scene had been painted, it could have been entitled “Whale on Knees at Toilet Bowl.” I, personally, never would have hung it on a wall. My Ob-Gyn was not pleased with this peculiarity, didn’t know why it was happening and quickly hospitalized me. The answer came from an obstetric specialist who discovered that this fetus was sitting so high in the uterus, it was compressing my stomach impeding digestion. Thus I spent the last two months of the pregnancy on baby food. When I visited friends for a dinner party, I watched everyone enjoying gourmet meals while I was served Gerber’s or Beach Nut baby food. Definitely not gourmet.
Well, this pregnancy finally did come to an end though it didn’t seem possible. I gained eighteen pounds with him and the day after he was born, lost all eighteen. When I asked my doctor why, she gave me the same answer as the first time. “No idea.”
This seven pound two ounce baby boy came into the world starving. He was apparently a very hungry fetus, eating all my food so my ribs stuck out sort of like a live skeleton. He became the joke in the nursery because the nurses couldn’t fill him up. He, like my daughter, gained weight in the hospital. When I brought him home, he drank two eight ounce bottles of milk at each feeding (that’s sixteen ounces!) and although I didn’t believe in propping bottles, my arms gave out after the first eight so the second was propped.
His growth rate was staggering. By the time he reached one year, he had grown eleven inches to thirty-two and weighed thirty pounds. Everyone thought he was the cutest though not too advanced child since he looked like a two year old but he couldn’t do very much including the ability to speak and walk.
Over the past couple of decades doctors have not urged women to watch their pregnancy weight so they gain thirty, forty or more pounds, feel like an elephant and then have to struggle to lose all those extra pounds with diets and serious workouts. I don’t think these doctors’ advice is wonderful. I, frankly, don’t know why my unique diet worked and I lost more or the same number of pounds, but worked it did even though people find it hard to believe. It’s all true, I promise.
It was a great pregnancy after the first couple of throw up months. I had no limitations and no problems. Was never hungry (never had a yen for pickles and ice-cream) and no one could tell I was pregnant till my sixth month so I didn’t need maternity clothes early on. That was most acceptable. The first clue that I was gaining weight was my waistline disappeared. It could have been worse.
By the time this adorable baby girl arrived, I had gained fourteen pounds. The day after she was born, I had lost twenty-four pounds. “How did that happen?” I asked my doctor. “Have no idea,” she responded. The baby, incidentally, was not starved and weighed in at six pounds twelve ounces – a respectably sized baby who literally gained weight in the hospital. Of course in those days, before the HMO blitz of evicting new mothers with their babies by the second midnight after delivery, a post-delivery hospital stay was a week. That was extremely civilized. My obstetrician’s comment was: “No reason to rush home. Relax. You’ll have plenty to do when you leave.” Wise, wise words.
My next pregnancy, four years later, was not as pleasant. Major understatement. This, too, is not typical. Normally, the second pregnancy is easier. But who said I was normal? If you saw the film ”Auntie Mame” and remember the hilarious Agnes Gooch’s pregnancy (and if you haven’t seen it, rent it), you would know what I looked like. I felt as though a giant watermelon had been glued onto my abdomen. When I sat down, getting up was a major obstacle. I was beached. It was beyond uncomfortable. I remember being in a supermarket obviously “in that way” when an elderly lady kindly smiled at me and said: “I see you’re going to have a boy.” She was bang on right. The old wives tale maintains that if one carries round, it will be a girl; if you carry all up front, it will be a boy. I followed that old wives tale to a tee.
It was not an easy pregnancy. At the beginning of my eighth month, I couldn’t digest food. After I ate. I immediately ran to the bathroom and up-chugged everything. If this scene had been painted, it could have been entitled “Whale on Knees at Toilet Bowl.” I, personally, never would have hung it on a wall. My Ob-Gyn was not pleased with this peculiarity, didn’t know why it was happening and quickly hospitalized me. The answer came from an obstetric specialist who discovered that this fetus was sitting so high in the uterus, it was compressing my stomach impeding digestion. Thus I spent the last two months of the pregnancy on baby food. When I visited friends for a dinner party, I watched everyone enjoying gourmet meals while I was served Gerber’s or Beach Nut baby food. Definitely not gourmet.
Well, this pregnancy finally did come to an end though it didn’t seem possible. I gained eighteen pounds with him and the day after he was born, lost all eighteen. When I asked my doctor why, she gave me the same answer as the first time. “No idea.”
This seven pound two ounce baby boy came into the world starving. He was apparently a very hungry fetus, eating all my food so my ribs stuck out sort of like a live skeleton. He became the joke in the nursery because the nurses couldn’t fill him up. He, like my daughter, gained weight in the hospital. When I brought him home, he drank two eight ounce bottles of milk at each feeding (that’s sixteen ounces!) and although I didn’t believe in propping bottles, my arms gave out after the first eight so the second was propped.
His growth rate was staggering. By the time he reached one year, he had grown eleven inches to thirty-two and weighed thirty pounds. Everyone thought he was the cutest though not too advanced child since he looked like a two year old but he couldn’t do very much including the ability to speak and walk.
Over the past couple of decades doctors have not urged women to watch their pregnancy weight so they gain thirty, forty or more pounds, feel like an elephant and then have to struggle to lose all those extra pounds with diets and serious workouts. I don’t think these doctors’ advice is wonderful. I, frankly, don’t know why my unique diet worked and I lost more or the same number of pounds, but worked it did even though people find it hard to believe. It’s all true, I promise.
No comments:
Post a Comment