In the early days when the idea of being pregnant was just sinking in, one of my first thoughts was food. Pregnancy myths and stereotypes. I waited for the dreaded morning sickness or all day sickness to take over. I imagined myself feeling revolted by the idea of food. I imagined forcing Saathi to make midnight runs for ice cream. Yet, the days passed and nothing happened. Nothing. No sickness, no cravings. Nada. Zilch.
I went through two trimesters of being pregnant not salivating at the thought of pickles or sour stuff. I doubted if I were pregnant. After all, don’t all women pay obeisance to the potty god, lose insane amounts of weight in the first trimester and then devour anything on sight during the second? I realized sagely as my calendar marked 28 weeks that I am probably an anomaly.
What I was blessed with instead is Gestational Diabetes. I do not use the term blessed without thought. When walking into my first prenatal visit, I went armed with my blood work pre-pregnancy. I pointed out that I was considered pre-diabetic thanks to my gene pool. The doctor took a look and looked at me sadly. I walked out with a script for the 1 hour Glucose Tolerance Test. At 8 weeks I was pronounced Gestational Diabetic and sent home with a prescription for insulin and fine needles. I learned to carb count, to cheat in between meals and squirrel away my sweet treats for the late night snack. I religiously paired nuts or greek yogurt with fruit and learned to swallow cheese and paneer without a grimace. I googled, swapped ingredients and made my own low carb cookies. I made good fat my best friend.
I ate huge portions of vegetables with each meal hoping the fiber will slow down the carb combustion. I learned to love salads. Cooking three meals a day became child’s play and my only options to eat out were either a salad or the Chipotle salad bowl minus the rice and beans. I not just survived but thrived.
I turned to the internet with a vengeance. What I learned surprised me. I embraced my diagnosis instead of rueing it. Each time I stepped off the scale I thanked my smaller portion sizes. I still have a good 10-12 weeks to go but I deal with it one day at a time. One needle at a time.
And dream of puran polis and fruit cakes post April.