Two pieces of not-great news from the midwives yesterday. First off, I’ve made no progress in a week. Clearly I was right the first time, and will be pregnant forever. The other piece is also discouraging; in the last trimester, you’re supposed to gain about a pound a week, although this of course varies from lady to lady—I certainly gained more weight than that with Cricket. Well, I’ve gained no weight in three weeks, and there have been ketones in my urine—funnily enough, something that happens to Atkins dieters. The midwife (one I hadn’t seen before) led into the whole thing pretty delicately, asking about what anti-acids I’d been using, and how often, and whether that was helping, I assume trying to figure out whether I was having too much acid reflux to make myself eat.
Mr. Book has been worried about my eating for awhile; it’s a fair cop, I’ve stopped being interested in food, and tend to start having nauseating contractions when I eat, so I’ve just . . . largely stopped. Yes, this is a stupid plan. But the little bird appears to be doing fine! But—I keep going around in my head, uselessly.