Baby Belly Binge | Pigging Out, Pregnant Style

 It's no secret that pregnant women have problems sleeping, have chaotic dreams and grow increasingly restless as the pregnancy proceeds. The mattress caves in a little more with each additional kilo, there's no space for the blanket anymore and let's not get into what to do with your pillows. In my case, this standard set of problems is exacerbated by a thirsty two year old at three in the morning, a full moon once a month, the need to pee at least once in the middle of the night and and a boyfriend who has sleeping issues of his own: In August, he was plagued by allergic asthma (he hates doctors and especially allergists), now it's a stuffy nose (he doesn't blow dry his hair even on chilly days), and, recently, general nightly nervosity. I think it's because of the approaching due date – although he would never admit it, all signs point towards this future daddy's growing excitement about his first baby daughter.

I was actually pretty relaxed up into the 34^th week of my pregnancy, unfazed by sciatica pains, premature labor or horror scenarios about the actual birth. I remained entirely and utterly unfazed – until last night, which, to be honest, was hell. Why? I'm not sure, but I have an inkling that it might have had something to do with an out-and-out snack attack in the hours leading up to the 8 hour sleepless delirium. Disregarding all of my healthy nutrition plans, forcefully removing the “pregnancy nutrtition calendar” from my refridgerator door and grabbing what I could get, I sank into my couch, put on “50 First Dates” and indulged in a donwright candy orgy. So what? Drew Barrymore likes to reach for those Krispy Kremes every once in a while, right?  Sweet teeth in the world, I was your ringleader yesterday! I binged on my christmas gingerbread (shame on me) and ate three layers Frankfurter Kranz with my bare hands.

The consequences made themselves noticeable with somewhat of a delay. But they sure caught up to me while I was rolling around with a 2,5 baby belly and a guilty conscience feeling like it was 300 degrees in my bedroom. Can you actually get a fever from too much sugar? Not wanting to wake the sleeping jumping-jack, I refrained from opening the window (he was already hulled in a long sleeved shirt because I'd been turning down the heat for weeks) while I had enough energy in me to rip out trees, paint the entire apartment and repot all of our plants.  I was ready to rumble: If I would have gone into labor last night, I would have kicked ass at the hospital. I could have churned out triplets at the blink of an eye, with a flawless smile left over for the baby video. But I wasn't at the hospital. I was in my bed, sweating like an aninmal, with a sleeping baby in my belly, a half-asleep son in the other room and a snoring boyfriend by my side. And if that wasn't enough, I was hassled by a bizarre half-dream that was based on a true, sad story : It was the 80's and I was at the zoo with my third grade class, standing in front of an empty sea lion tank. There was an information board showing sick sea lions with bloated bellies after they had been fed with rusty coins, knives, hankerchiefs and glass shards. Meanwhile, in my dream, there was a picture of me, bloated out of my mind, on the information board, after having been fed with peanut puffs, butter-caramel popcorn, orange-chocolate cookies, malibu brittle chocolate and oodles of gummi bears. 

Looking back on it this morning, the night seemed absolutely surreal. I wondered if this was the infamous “Beginning of the End”, the sleepless prelude to the last weeks of pregnancy? I really tried to start the day in exemplary form today (pineapples with Turkish yoghurt and organic honey). As I write these words, homemade chicken soup is simmering on the stove. But if I'm not mistaken, we have a couple of chocolate-covered Zabainoe nuts left over from Easter somewhere...

(sjb)