Today Kate told me I have an eating disorder. I find that amusing because I eat a bagel sandwich a day and probably a pint of ice cream a week. In fact I want both and some pickles right now.

It’s more about how I view my changing body and how my mind resembles the mind of someone afflicted with a disorder. Yes I am almost 30 weeks pregnant, and despite the fact that the scale hasn’t changed in weeks, I feel enormous!

So far I’ve gained much less than I did with my first pregnancy and actually I’m still close to what I weighed when I even started that pregnancy. BUT, and here’s the thing, every time I look in the mirror I see giganta-Annie. My belly feels so huge I am ready to get a wheel barrow to start carrying it around, cartoon style.

I took the lil guy to gymnastics yesterday and there were these two women there that were probably around the same number of weeks pregnant as me and all I could do was wonder how on earth they stayed so trim and fit while pregnant.

I’ve never really been the type of person to compare my body to others. In general I’m pretty pleased with my ability to create and grow a human being and it’s a biological fact that I make big (healthy) babies.

So what is my deal here? We know people with actual eating disorders and I mean no disrespect. I completely understand that it is a serious mental illness that can have devastating impact on families. I guess what I’m learning is how it can happen. How what someone looks like on the outside or what numbers appear on the scale can have no connection to what someone sees when they look at their own bodies in the mirror.

Sympathy is ok, just don’t take up permanent residency in my brain, ok?