Every morning, I would make breakfast. Quentin would want oatmeal. I would make 1/4 cup for him, and 1/4 cup for myself. Organic Old Fashioned Oats from Trader Joe’s, two minutes in the microwave. Quentin always wanted to add his own dried cranberries, by the fistful (and sometimes directly into his mouth). We both had a few spoonfuls of brown sugar, and whole milk. I would make a cup of decaf coffee. I do not drink coffee creamer, so it would be topped off with straight heavy cream.
That was when I was pregnant, and cared about what I ate and put into my body. Now I frantically gulp a cup of regular coffee. Sometimes two. No food. I forget lunch sometimes, or allow myself to forget. I end up waking at night sometimes, hungry. That part reminds me of pregnancy. Nothing will allow me back to sleep, starving at 3:00 a.m., except eating.
There is a conscious/unconscious battle with what I eat. A tiny bit of pregnancy weight still lingers over me, just an added insult. I could likely lose it easily if I tried and focused on what I eat. But that seems like too much effort. I want the remnants of pregnancy to simply melt away, like what would happen when I was breastfeeding my babies.
I have little desire to eat well. I would eat well before pregnancy. During. Not after. After is more like survival mode. Eat whatever is necessary to survive.