Hunger like a Boob

I think it's a record how many times I have posted with boob in the title. It's a sick fascination with me. Now that I am allowed, more like tolerated, to talk about my boobs every other sentence is filled with breast references. Working boobs have nothing to do with sex boobs and they seriously have a life of there own. They are no longer part of my body. When you walk into our house be prepared to be greeted by 2 grandparents, 2 sisters, a new mom, a baby, and Bessie and Clara Bell the resident directors of milk services.

But I digress. True to all the pregnancy rumors, my life became defined by food. I loved that I was permitted by society to eat at all times. The people at Carvel knew me by name when I was 5 months. I was expecting to have a ton of pickle and ice cream cravings but that never happened (yes to ice cream, no to pickles). I never had to send family members on expeditions to the store at 3am (well maybe once when Dad had to get me raspberry sherbet, not strawberry, raspberry). In fact, I was never motivated to get out of bed for food. I had more helpings but stayed with three meals a day and a snack before bed.

Pregnancy did nothing to prepare me for breastfeeding hungry. My boobs are hungry ALL THE TIME!!! Pregnant hunger is I want a slice of pizza the size of my head and I want it now, get out of my way. Breast feeding hunger is opening the cabinet and devouring everything inside. It has no rhyme or reason. It is being famished. For anything. All the time. I rarely care what I am eating just as long as it is in my mouth. I clean plates on third helpings. I finish side dishes out of their serving bowls when everyone else is done. Lick the bowl after my nightly heap of ice cream. You wonder why our grocery bill has gone up to $250 a week. No, it is not the exorbitant price of groceries, its Kate the human garbage disposal who can methodically devour every bag of chips or cookies in the house in an hour. Yes, Mom, I am eating you out of house and home. No, its not the cats at 4am rummaging for a granola bar. Yes, Terry, I was the one the finished every single package of girl scout cookies that I had intended to send you. Yes, I am always the culprit.

It's astonishing and annoying. It would be one thing if I felt like eating something specific or had cravings. But no, I am not in the mood to eat anything. I want everything. Thankfully, I am still holding steady at 130lbs. Still have some pregnancy weight to lose but I am not complaining. I think that all the extra calories that I am eating are going straight to Wyatt because he is looking more and more like Spanky from the Little Rascals. (I believe he does have the hat and suspenders too). OK, well, surprise, surprise, I'm famished. Like haven't eaten in three months because the locusts ate our crops, malnourished, 'Please sir can I have some more', kid from Africa famished.