Frankly Speaking

The day the pregnancy Gods took sugar away from me, I felt instantly gipped (sp?).

Gone was the excuse to indulge in just about anything that struck my fancy. Gone was the time-honoured tradition of everything you see consumed in the movies by pregnant women on raving hunger rampages. Gone was the ability to soothe a craving – be it for ice cream, pancakes, or anything else remotely fun.

Of course, being a rule follower, and already knowing the baby inside me is more important than anything (yes, including my need for daily chocolate), I have observed the gestational diabetes diet religiously. I measure my carbohydrates. I don’t drink juice. Desert has become a time of day when I sob alone, in the bathroom, waiting for my friends to be done and clear the dishes. So on. So forth.

As we close in on April, though, it’s time to make some serious plans for sugar consumption. I’m declaring the month of May my missing trimester. And the list of things I will eat in those weeks is growing by the day.

The top treats I’m planning on are below in no particular order. Feel free to suggest a few of your own. I don’t want to leave any sugary food unturned. And if anyone has comments about indigestion, weight loss, or the need to eat healthy over the long term – you need not reply ; )

• Ice cream, probably in Blizzard form, from Dairy Queen
• Chocolate chip pancakes from Angelique’s down the street
• Cupcakes from Cinnabon (they invented these while  I was off sugar, can you believe the irony?)
• Cheetos. By the bagful.
• Oreo cheesecake courtesy of Jordan. The promise of this has kept me going the past few weeks.
• Maple syrup. No need to pour it on anything. The syrup alone will do.
• Chocolate chunk cookies from Felix and Norton or Mrs.Fields (whatever happens to be closer at hand)
• Birthday cake (Kenny, expect something exceptional this year, and expect it to be the flavour of my choice. Sorry!)

So I’ve met someone. And I think I’m in love.

Her name is Adele, and everything about her is perfect. She wears a power suit and a power ear piece thingy and a powerful smile – and best of all, while we chit chatted in my kitchen, she casually asked if she could clean our ceramic stove top before she left.

I don’t even have to tell you how I answered that one!

Yes, Adele is the owner of the local Molly Maid franchise, and I have to say, after about 5 minutes of wandering my house together while she jotted down notes, I was pretty sure we were meant to be a match for life. Not only does she, too, hate any kind of stove top or kitchen sink scum (be still my beating heart!) but she knows exactly what to do about it.

Sigh. Like I said, I think I’m in love.

I stopped cleaning our house around the time I stopped being able to see my toes. Anyone who’s seen me lately can imagine that was many un-tidy moons ago. So this week, I decided to treat myself. Not with the artwork or shoes or pedicure I once would have chosen to indulge in if indulging was in order. But with a visit from Adele’s team.

Never in my life did I think I’d reach a point where I’d be this excited about having someone wash my floors and scrub my tub. But it’s been three days since they turbo-cleaned this place, and I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

Who knew our bathroom tiles actually shine? Who knew our bathtub was white? Who knew our fridge doesn’t have to carry the weight of six months worth of fingerprints? Molly Maid knew, my friends. Molly Maid knew.

I’m not sure what this says about me as a person. Does valuing a cleaning team to this degree mean I’m maturing somehow? Does it mean I’m lazier than I knew? Does it mean I’m all whacked out on pregnancy hormones and would be this excited about the mail man coming (which also really gets my goat, I have to say)? Who knows.

For now, I’m just going to sit here and enjoy the gleam of cleanliness that I didn’t have to create myself. Wow, this is an awesome feeling. Awesome indeed.