Competitive Edge

I hope I’m not a crazy stage mom or one of those parents who jumps out of the bleachers at soccer games and beats up the coach. The reason I fear that a little is because I’m slightly competitive. I like to be the best, even in silly things. And yesterday my doctor fueled this fire in me when he told me some really fab news:

“Your weight gain is perfect. You’re like the poster child for pregnancy weight gain.”

I beamed.

I told Frank what he said (extenuating circumstances caused Super Dad to miss this appointment) and added, “Do you know what that means? He thinks I’m so awesome that I should be on a poster!”

So this is what that poster would look like:

Except I’d have a stylist and better lighting and I probably wouldn’t be in my pajamas.

Now, there’s one downside to being perfect: there’s no wiggle room. If he had said that I was a little under, I could pig out. But still, I took his comment to mean that a little pigging would be okay:

I go back in two weeks and I’ll see a different doctor. If he doesn’t give me any compliments I’ll have to prompt him:

“Notice anything about my ankles? Would you say they are the best pregnant ankles you’ve ever seen?”

“How ‘bout that baby’s heartbeat? Pretty strong, eh? Strongest you’ve ever heard, perhaps?”

“Did you get a look at my belly button? Probably never seen one pop out so prevalently, have you?”

“Damn that’s some low blood pressure! Wouldn’t you agree?”

And if he doesn’t bite, I promise I won’t jump off the examining table and beat him up. But I might show him my poster.