I have been in active eating disorder recovery (meaning no behaviors, restricting, etc) for a decade now, and I can honestly say that when I found out I was pregnant, gaining weight was the least of my worries. My dear mom asked me early on how I felt I was doing with the weight gain. My response? Great! And I really have been doing great... a feat I attribute only to the healing hand of God. Seriously. If you knew me 12 years ago, you would have said I'd never be healthy again, let alone gain weight during pregnancy without a second thought. (Trust me, I heard that from every expert, doctor, therapist, co-treatment roomate, etc.)

I've always had "issues" with my stomach... don't really know why, its the ED lying to me. But one of the things that I did to find peace with that part of my body (and other "trouble spots" I had issues with) was to think about all the positive things... like, I was thankful for my legs because they allowed me to walk. I was thankful for my arms because they allowed me to give and receive hugs. You get the picture. When it came to my tummy, my biggest body part enemy, I always focused on the fact that some day, my tummy would hold my baby. And it would grow round and beautiful and would give my child nourishment as long as I was nourishing my body. In the 10 years that have passed since then, I've remembered that, reflected on that and hoped for that... and in some really tough times, its what has kept me eating. And now the day is here for my arch nemesis to become my friend, and I LOVE IT. A strange part of me wishes I could keep my preggy belly forever. But that would be kinda weird. Espeically when I'm not pregnant any more. Hmph.

Yesterday I went for a check up with my dr. and we did the usual weigh in. Oh, the weigh-ins I've had in my days. I've been weighed blindfolded, backwards, in grams... you name it, I've been weighed in that manner. Since I'm a big girl now, I obvioulsy get to know my weight like all the 'normal' people in this world. Yesterday I was 120 and a few ounces. I have not weighed that much since the first time I got out of treatment at the Fat Farm. (Ok, Remuda wasn't a "fat farm"... just felt that way when I was eating 6 meals a day, plus tube feeding at night and gaining 45 pounds in 60 days.) Before I went in to the dr. I knew that I was probably close to that weight... and the strangest thing was that I wasn't anxious about it, but I was actually HOPING for it. Because just like my tummy growing rounder is a good sign, so is gaining weight like a 'normal' pregnant lady.

I saw a friend today who I haven't seen in a while and she said "Oh, you're still so tiny! You're barely showing at all! I hate you!" (Joking, of course.) But what she doesn't know is how badly I want to be BIGGER... I'm 27 weeks pregnant today, but only the size of most pregnant women at 16 weeks or so. I still fit in most of my pants, and sometimes when I wake up, first thing in the morning, I don't even look pregnant. I would give ANYTHING to be bigger... to gain more weight, to get round, and hey-- I totally wouldn't mind sporting a stretch mark or two. Call me crazy, but all of those things would mean that my girl was growing healthy and normal. But sadly, she's not. She's small for where she should be. She has no amniotic fluid (what actually causes most of the baby bump growth and weight gain). She's sick.

Truly, I couldn't care less about what I weigh right now. I couldn't care less about what size my pants are or the smooth condition of my skin. All I want is for our baby to continue growing, kicking and holding on until she is supposed to be born. She'll be small for her size, but we are just hoping and praying with all our might that we'll be able to hold her while she's still alive. I learned a long time ago that numbers are almost as subjective as feelings (unless they carry a $ before them) and really don't matter. At least when it comes to weight. Next number issue to tackle: age. *gulp*

:-)