Tag: pregnancy journey

Being plus size and pregnant is really hard, and lately it feels like no matter what I do, I’m being told it’s not enough.

At my appointment yesterday, my regular OB-GYN wasn’t there, so I ended up seeing a different doctor. That conversation left me feeling frustrated, so I wanted to share a little background.

Before I got pregnant—or at least before my doctors realized I was pregnant—I had been working really hard to lose weight. Back in December, I weighed 210 pounds. I was eating in a calorie deficit, staying consistent, and by February I had gotten down to 205 pounds.

Then life got stressful. I gave up on my diet because I just wasn’t feeling right. Looking back, that “off” feeling turned out to be pregnancy. By the time I went to the doctor in April, I weighed 207 pounds, and that’s when my pregnancy was officially confirmed.

Now I’m almost seven months pregnant, and I weigh 217 pounds.

When you’re plus size, doctors generally recommend gaining between 11 and 20 pounds during pregnancy. I’ve gained 10 pounds so far. The problem is that my doctor is only looking at my April weight because that’s when my pregnancy was confirmed. To them, it looks like I’ve gained those 10 pounds very quickly over the past couple of months, and they’re worried about my baby’s growth.

What makes this even more confusing is that they keep bringing up gestational diabetes, even though all of my glucose tests have come back looking pretty normal.

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

The doctor keeps telling me to eat keto, but everything I’ve read in my pregnancy books says that a strict keto diet isn’t recommended during pregnancy. Even if I wanted to go low-carb, it’s not that simple. My baby has made it very clear what she will and won’t let me eat.

She’ll tolerate chicken, seafood, and an occasional burger, but steak, ground beef, and pork are completely off the table. Right now, most of my protein comes from eggs and beans. But then I’m told that while beans are a good source of protein, they’re also high in carbohydrates.

So it feels like I can’t win.

No matter what I eat, someone tells me it’s wrong. I’m trying my best to nourish my baby while also listening to what my body can actually handle, and that’s not always easy. Pregnancy is already challenging, but being plus size adds another layer of pressure that can make every appointment feel like you’re being judged instead of supported.

I’m doing the best I can, and I hope that’s enough.

We have officially entered the “Eryn Is Irrational” stage of pregnancy.

You know how people tell you pregnancy hormones can make you emotional? I thought they meant I’d cry at heartwarming commercials or get misty-eyed over baby clothes.

No.

Apparently my version is much weirder.

Since hitting 24 weeks, and now at 25 weeks I have cried almost every day.

I’m sure I already said this but I genuinely can’t remember. I cried because I saw what I thought was a Taylor Swift music video for Toy Story 5. It wasn’t actually a music video. It was basically a compilation of clips from the previous movies featuring Jessie. Somehow my brain immediately jumped to, “Oh my God, they’re going to kill off Jessie.”

I then sat there crying over a fictional cowgirl.

I got mad at Hector for five hours because he wouldn’t let me pop a pimple on his back. We didn’t talk. Five hours. Over a pimple.

I cried because my biological father doesn’t like one of our baby name choices. Normally I couldn’t care less about his opinion. If he told me the sky was blue, I’d probably still look out the window to verify it myself. Yet somehow pregnancy hormones decided this was a devastating personal attack.

And today?

Today I cried because we got Chick-fil-A and Hector ate his sandwich before I could have a bite.

To be clear, I had my own meal.

Not only did I have my own meal, I had a 12-piece grilled nugget, fries, and a side salad. I was not starving. There was plenty of food. I was fully fed.

But the fact that he ate his sandwich before I got my ceremonial “just a bite” apparently broke something inside me.

So if you’ve been wondering how pregnancy is going, the answer is that physically I’m doing pretty okay.

Emotionally, however, I’m one Jessie montage away from another complete breakdown.

So I failed my glucose test today.

The results came back surprisingly fast for the shitty clinic I go to.

The frustrating part is that I wasn’t told the test was happening at this appointment, and nobody told me to fast beforehand. Technically, the 1-hour glucose test doesn’t require fasting, but I had a full-blown cheat day beforehand. I ate a Costco chicken bake, a calzone (which I do not recommend because it was SO salty), and then after a late movie we ended up getting Taco Bell around midnight. Walking into an 8 a.m. appointment, my body was probably still processing all of that.

Then came the glucose drink.

I don’t know what demon invented that thing, but it made me throw up so violently that it honestly made me reconsider having a second kid someday. My first trimester was relatively easy. Morning sickness barely affected me. But that drink? That drink took me out. The only thing that’s made me feel that sick during this pregnancy was trying to eat over-easy eggs because apparently the parasite currently living inside me—the one that’s now roughly the size of an ear of corn—has declared war on all forms of runny eggs.

Now I have to get a glucometer and test strips and start monitoring my blood sugar. My fasting numbers need to stay under 95, otherwise medication becomes part of the conversation, and that’s something I’d really like to avoid right now.

I’m trying not to spiral over one test result, but between the surprise test, the mystery sugar drink from hell, and spending the rest of the day feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, I’m definitely not having the best time.

Pregnancy is magical, they said.
They forgot to mention the part where you get ambushed by orange sugar syrup and spend the morning questioning every life choice that led you there.

Starting June 1st, I want to post every day until September 1st.

Partly as a countdown. Partly as a distraction. Partly because I think if I keep all of this in my head any longer, it’s going to swallow me whole.

My due date is at the end of September, and everyone keeps warning me that the last month is the hardest — the most uncomfortable, the most painful, the most exhausting. So this feels like my chance to get everything out before I hit that wall.

I want to write about the things I’ve been avoiding thinking about for months.

The shock of realizing I was pregnant later than I should have.

How isolating it can feel trying to process something life-changing while the rest of the world keeps moving normally around you.

Being heavily pregnant during the summer heat.

The stress of moving.

Having to find a new doctor.

Trying to figure out a completely different delivery plan now that Hector might not even be there anymore.

The fear. The uncertainty. The guilt. The physical exhaustion. All of it.

I don’t want this to be one of those perfectly curated pregnancy countdowns where everything is glowing and beautiful all the time. Some days might be hopeful. Some days might be messy. Some days might just be me complaining about swollen feet and heat waves and crying over things that don’t make sense.

But I think I need somewhere to put all of this.

Maybe by the time September comes, I’ll feel lighter for having said it out loud.

Or at least less alone while I wait for everything to change.