KARMA. That’s what Earl Hickey calls this. Because I tempted all those unassuming weight-loss masochists with Girl Scout Cookies yesterday, I have been downtrodden and beaten up with the plague. Yep, I am barely functional today with what I hope will not be strep. And so in penitence, allow me to share a little-known weight-loss secret. Here’s the story.
There is something that every pregnant lady dreads during her regular checkups: the weigh-in. I endured something exponentially worse yesterday: the weigh-in after the holidays. To be honest, I was supposed to go in last week for my 12-week appointment but pushed it back. My surface reasoning was because Grandma was out of town and I needed her to watch The Hurricane. But my real reckoning was I wanted to take an extra week to lose a pound or two. Yeah, right. I’m sure the pound of jelly bellies I ate yesterday helped out the poundage count considerably.
The doctor’s office called to confirm my appointment yesterday with Dr. Ganter. Never in my wildest pregnant lady pee dreams would I have chosen Ganter out of the other four female doctors. She is the Nazi of weight gain. And is not above reducing bloating pregnant ladies to tears. Big, FAT tears, of course.
The waiting room consisted of the usual routine: all of us subtly checking out each other’s bellies to see who was biggest. But then it came time to take part in the one thing I excel at: offering up a pee sample. I strutted on in there, grabbed my cup, assumed the position…and nothing. NOTHING! Now, there are many things I cannot do on demand (i.e. belching, passing gas, etc.) but peeing is not among them. But for the first time I knew what it was like to be a guy at a urinal experiencing “Pee Fright.” Don’t deny it, Men. Jamie has filled me in on urinal etiquette.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, there was the nurse waiting for me by the scale. As far I was concerned, that thing was about as big and intimidating as the life-size scale on The Biggest Loser. I half expected to see my weight displayed in big, blazing numbers for all to see. I tentatively stepped on, wondering if it would be too extreme to strip down to nothing to save myself the extra ounces but I decided to keep my dignity instead.
And my total weight gain? Five pounds. Now, I’m sure most women would be wailing over that but I about jumped for joy. I would’ve gained that much just inhaling the food at the local Chinese buffet. It just goes to prove that maybe jelly bellies are the dietary miracle drug of today.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 