I can’t sleep. If only I had a dollar for every time I’ve written that in the past.

It seems to ring particularly true as of late. Preg Problems, I tell ya. I forget why it is that insomnia hits during pregnancy, besides the very real fact that one must contemplate the responsibility of another living person, but it does happen.

Yesterday was my 25 week appointment. How we’re at 25 weeks, I’m not exactly sure. But alas, here we are. I seem to be saying that every week. All went well.

Regardless of not showing much, I’m surprisingly on point for stomach growth {24 centimeters}. I guess it’s just the way I’m carrying Baby FOH that makes it seem more like an illusion of smallness. I’ll gladly take the illusion.

It was a great appointment, yet it has been overshadowed by one deep and dark thing. A stupid thing.

It’s called: I gained six pounds in five weeks. And I wanted to freak out about it. I made a complete fool out of myself when I stepped on the scale, looked up in utter horror and announced, THAT’S WRONG!

Yes, it was more like a shout. As though I needed everyone in ear shot range to know I didn’t really weigh that much. Nevermind that no one minus the nurse could even see what the scale read.

I insisted I get back on it after taking my socks off. Socks, People! Like that was going to make a difference! What the hell was I on?

But numbers don’t lie now, do they? This one seemed to cut into me. I felt exposed and edgy. My heart rate actually increased. Was this normal? Is this how much I’m going to gain per week/month through April? And if so, what will I do? What can I do?

Enter wild sense of loss of control.

I understand — these thoughts are completely irrational. Illogical. They are selfish. Knowing this and being able to recognize this in the moment does not help me. It only seems to do further damage and make me feel like a shit ass mother.

The Babe isn’t even here and already Mommy Guilt has come on full force. What kind of mother is that concerned at a six pound weight gain while pregnant? That’s what happens, afterall. One gains weight. One has to. There’s a GD baby in there.

What kind of mother gets that focused on how much weight she’s gaining when she should be focused on the health of her baby? Who does that? Me. That’s who.

I just felt crappy about it. I still do. I thought about how much better I am than this … being reduced to weight mania while pregnant, of all things and actually allowing that to damper my entire afternoon.

I think, perhaps, what got me the most was the realization that I’m not over this weight and body image bullshit. Maybe not even remotely close. And here I am preaching self love and … am I just a fraud?

This isn’t exactly loving and embracing myself. I felt like a good mother would have praised her body for gaining that weight. As a good sign that her baby is growing and developing.

I didn’t. I was pissed off and wondering if I should be working out more. Should I stop middle of the night eating?

Obviously I am not going to stop eating, so please no one jump all over me. I might have some “food situations” but I’m not that far gone that I’m going to deprive my body of what it needs right now.

My love for this baby and my own inner insecurities are two separate things that have suddenly crossed paths and now are tied together. Which makes it more challenging. I need to set a good example now of loving and being happy with me … but why can that be so hard?

Or am I just making it harder than it has to be? That this, too, is just a made up story — by me.

I want to be happy and rejoice in these pounds, like a lot of women are able to do — some of whom I even know and am friends with. They amaze me. Those trailblazers!

And I know that what is important is: I am healthy, FOH is healthy. I’m still able to workout everyday, I’m keeping my body strong.

It’s just a number. No big deal. It’s time to put this to rest. More gaining is going to happen. And somehow, I’m going to like it. Notice I didn’t say love, but, like.

Like I can get to … love … well, it’s a continual work in progress. All forms of love are.