I'm still on my delusional jukebox of 80's song titles that relate to my pregnancy maladies. After weighing in at the doctors office for my 7 month appointment yesterday, my theme song for the day is "Puttin' on the Ritz" (Crackers). Seems as though my empty calorie intake has outweighed my yoga meditation to reverse the consequences of eating two pieces of wedding and baby shower cake from the weekend parties I attended. I'm at a 20 lb weight gain. Which I didn't think was too bad until Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire told me that for the next 12 weeks I can expect to put on a pound a week. As if in harmony, at the same time, my hubby was a few miles away sitting in his office apparently on the phone with his parents when his mom confessed that she only gained 15 pounds with her babies. Hello salt, meet open gaping wound that was my ego.

And because bad news travels in threes, one of Dr. Z's nurses came into the room at the end of the appointment to give me a shot (something having to do with my O neg blood type potentially eating away at the babies antibodies). The shot was given in my hip, so I stood up, pulled down my super sexy elastic panel pantaloons as she apologized in advance for any discomfort as this was apparently going to be a big needle. The shot went quickly, relatively painless and being a brave girl I said "that wasn't so bad", to which the nurse replied, "that's because I was able to pinch some extra skin". I wanted to shove the needle in her eye while grabbing a belly roll of fat from her tummy and retort "now that's some extra skin, Fatty!" Instead I drove myself down the street to Burgermaster, ordered a shake, onion rings and a grilled cheese and decided that I'll need to adjust my "eating for two" justification to focus on eating sensibly for two.

But then again, Christina Aguilera lost 40 lbs in 4 months after having her baby. I wonder if she had to give up Ritz crackers...