You would think that the desire and dream of having a baby, even if not immediately, would be enough to keep me honest on this diet business. I admit that, while it is a strong motivator, it sometimes isn't enough.
Isn't enough? Am I crazy? Of course not, but knowing that I still have a few weeks before I have to be on the strictly baby-conscious menu, I know that it won't be the end of the world if I cheat and have a coffee or a bowl of ice cream piled high with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Yea, the side effects of the Metformin help curb most of those cravings, but there are times that I can psych myself up and, knowing what's coming, power through and devour the food I want.
This past week, I wondered if I had made a mistake in letting slip to the barista at the company cafeteria the journey that I am starting on. I walked away kicking myself as I sipped down the last mocha frappuccino I told her I would buy for awhile. I never intended to tell anyone I know personally or professionally about trying to conceive.
A few days later, I found that it was a good decision. I had been having a relatively bad morning and found myself making crazy excuses for why I should be allowed to have another frappuccino, complete with a few extra espresso shots and about three or four Ghirardelli dark chocolate squares blended inside (trust me, this is heaven in a cup!). Instead of acquiescing, she smiled and jokingly scolded me, "Now, now, we're not having that; we're trying to have a baby." She then suggested a handful of options that I might like, none of which contained a lot of sugar, any dairy, or caffeine. She had even told the other baristas that I was limited on menu items. She said she did it to help keep me honest and hoped I wasn't mad.
I can't be mad, even if I wanted to be; she did it to help me and it is help that I most certainly will be needing. I know it can take a village to rear a child, but who would have guessed that it would take a village to prepare to try conceiving?
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