When Chinese food attacks
5th November 2005
Chinese food has been calling the past few weeks, so we hit a local buffet restaurant on Friday night.
The mean thing about pregnancy hunger is that although you’re pretty much constantly wanting food, you can’t gorge yourself. The stomach, normally able to stretch and fill up, is squished, oh, somewhere between north of the belly button and the lungs at six months pregnant.
So large quantities of food? Often make a little reappearance in the back of the throat a few hours later, or — as often my case — make it feel as if my pregnant belly is so stretched by the end of the night it will explode off me. I lumber and waddle and squwak.
(Going to bed seems to be the only way to deflate this feeling. I don’t want to know what happens during slumber to accomplish this.)
Did any of this stop me when faced with row upon row of delicious buffet food? Of course not.
I made four trips, and had chicken balls, veggie rice, egg and spring rolls, guy ding, some chicken in sauce thing, chow mein, one chicken nugget, some fries and onion rings, veggies in sauce, fruit, ice cream, wontons in honey lemon sauce and two glasses of water.
It was sooo good for about an hour. Then while in Chapters, I could swear I saw my stomach start to round out, pooch out, and the skin start to tighten. The inflating had begun. I had trouble breathing, people.
Was it worth it? Of course.
(ps — Stroller mystery solved. It was Warren, my father-in-law. Thanks so much, Dad!)
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