Does This Ultrasound Make Me Look Fat?

First, I had the ultrasound. The technician was nice, but all-business and not very chatty. Baby A is head-down, ready to go Baby B is completely breech. I asked how much they weigh and the tech said she wasn’t checking that today. Then this lovely conversation emerged:

Me: But they look nice and chubby, right?
Tech: Of course they are chubby! After all, look at their mommy. Nice and…uh…solid. [And then she mumbled something about me not being slight or slim, I missed the exact word.]

That hissing sound you hear is my self-esteem deflating like a balloon. I think I’ll save the bulk of these rantings for another post, but let me just say this: I really, really don’t like it when people make flippant or pithy comments about my weight or size. I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but still. I, like many women, have a few issues with body image. My weight can fluctuate up and down, and it has dramatically during the TTC process, considering all the meds I was taking, etc. I have an obese aunt (over 400 pounds) and my grandmother was obese as well. That gives me some perspective in terms of weight and size, but it hasn’t stopped me from dabbling in unhealthy eating habits and flirting with compulsive exercise and yo-yo-ing with the best of them. I am my own worst critic, so the last thing need is anyone saying anything to me. It just really gets to me.

And that wasn’t the only comment today. On my way to the appointment, a man slowed down and leaned out of the window of his shiny black, souped-up Mercedes and yelled to me, as I was waiting with a group of others on the corner of 56th to cross the street, “Looking big” and not in a nice, enchanted sort of way. The women near me scowled in solidarity and the men, well, just looked at me. I wanted to melt into the sidewalk.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to obsess over weight and exercise if I got pregnant. And I am not. I am proud that my body isn’t betraying me or these babies. I am amazed that it can stretch to accommodate these two lives. I don’t look at the scale at weigh-ins and I am not busy figuring out how long to will take me to get back into shape. And now, especially with two girls coming, I need to keep this in check. The last thing I want to bequeath to these two girls is food/body issues. And I am in general doing ok, but when things like this happen, I am that dieting fourth-grader who is starving herself because she feels too fat. Or that eighth-grader who weighs herself 10 times a day (exhaling deeply, because extra air in lungs translates to extra weight on the scale) and uses averaged weight to determine whether or not I deserve to eat dinner. Or the twenty-something who would go to the gym before work and after work, skipping lunch in the middle and smoking like a chimney throughout it all, all in the name of looking good in a pair of jeans. Good times.

Enough about that for now. Back to the ultrasound.

The doctor-on-duty on Wednesdays in the Fetal Evaluation Unit is my doctor. My doctor came to the door during the u/s (she couldn’t see me) and asked the tech if she was ready for her. The tech said no, and that she would be done in a few minutes. My doctor disappeared, then returned maybe two minutes later and just waked in and when she saw me she told the tech to stop the exam because I am fine and these babies are fine. And just like that the wand was whipped off my stomach and my Baby View TV was turned off. It kinda annoyed me because, while I appreciate her optimism and confidence, I prefer to lean on the side of please-let’s-be-thorough. Every time I see my doctor her attitude is all is well, let’s cut corners and get outta here. I don’t doubt her expertise and her experience, but I am a teensy bit of a worrier in general and I would appreciate just a modicum of hand-holding. I am, after all, 33 weeks. Can we take a few more minutes?

Next was the non-stress test and the babies both did just fine. Baby B was moving non stop and then she got the hiccups. Baby A was a little quieter but she performed as well. I tried to get specifics (did their heart rates accelerate at least 15 beats for at least 15 seconds? Did they accelerate too much? Or too little) but the tech just kept telling me it was all fine. She then pointed out on my print out where I was having contractions. Guess what: we're not going to worry about that. I’m back a week from now for more of the same.

I am so relieved and grateful hat this was a positive baby day though. I didn't even mind that I spent two-and-a-half hours there all together.

Pictured above are my extremes: On top is me at a low weight. And on bottom is me at a high weight (thanks to four months of clomid and other fertility meds and, well, less exercise and more eating). My true weight settles somewhere in between. It’s hard to post these pictures, which is why I am doing it. To me, these pictures represent manifestations of issues with body, control, exercise and food. I can’t deny it: I still have a ways to go to slay these body issue demons.