So I went to the doctor's office yesterday. I told my doctor I was done with being pregnant and she gave me this look like, what could I possible mean. She said, you still have four months to go. I said, no, I have three and a half months to go. And she told me how many weeks, which is like talking to me in Swahili - and why was she arguing with a pregnant woman anyway? Seriously.
And they weighed me. I have to say that I think the British really have it right by not weighing women during their pregnancy - and basically not even caring. I wonder what the doctor would do if I refused to be weighed, like a toddler refusing to eat spinach.
So I thought I could handle any number they threw at me, but I guess I can't. I was horribly upset yesterday afternoon, and even this morning. The doctor, by the way, said I'm on track for the average American when it comes to weight gain. But have you seen the average American lately? So I've totally lost my appetite. I can't bear the thought of eating. I'm sure it will pass, and it's not like I didn't invite it in - by basically eating anything and everything I wanted until now, which included about a half a cake over the course of four days.
So the buck stops here.