The One Where I Turn Into Jack Spratt

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Jack Spratt could eat no fat
His wife could eat no lean
And so betwix them both, you see
they licked the platter clean

If you follow my tweets, you’ll notice that I spent Sunday, Monday and Tuesday in the hospital. My gall bladder decided to act stupid, grow a couple of stones and ruin my week. I’m actually trying NOT to focus on the fact that this pregnancy has been the pregnancy of “everything is happening to ME” and be grateful. It’s easy to be grateful, but not always easy to quit complaining.

Big Daddy, of course, was a Prince. He rolled up his sleeves, took care of the girls and kept things together. He did such a good job it would appear that Littlebit not only didn’t miss me, but doesn’t love me anymore as she is running to Big Daddy now for cuddles and snuggles. I’m not so fond, but glad for him.

THe issue now, of course, is trying to control my gall bladder symptoms until I’m not pregnant anymore and that means a very low fat diet.

So, let’s recap, shall we?

Gestational Diabetes means low carb
Gall Bladder from hell means low fat.

I am apparently being punished for the sin of gluttony, that’s all I’ve got.

Even the nutritionist at the hospital is like “Well, normally I would recommend THIS, but it has too much fat so……”

So, now I’m probably literally the only pregnant woman who can’t even have an occasional dish of ice cream.