I have been lucky so far. I really have. My doctor is awesome, I'm gaining weight at exactly the correct rate, no hemorrhoids, no waddling, no back pain.
I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. No big deal, right? Check your sugar, count your carbs. Except I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING.
Horror of horrors, the injustice. The mashed potatoes. The candied yams. The stuffing. The biscuits. The corn bread. The pies. Oh, sweet heaven, the pies. All calling my name.
It was awful. If I ate a satisfying helping of any one item, I couldn't have any other items. My plate was pathetic. I had two bites of mashed potatoes. Lisa's special Thanksgiving mashed potatoes. The ones with the fresh dill. TWO BITES. I had a mouthful of stuffing and half a cheesy garlic biscuit.
I could have all the turkey and ham I wanted. I am so tired of turkey. I don't even want to think about ham.
As soon as this baby is out and safe and content and they tell me I can eat, someone is going to be sent on a mission for mashed potatoes. Lots of them.