Hunger Games

How dare someone photograph me at breakfast!

You do hear stories about women eating for England whilst pregnant (hello Jessica Simpson!) and there is no doubt that I've been troughing more than usual. I'm aware of what I'm eating, and especially aware that as on an exercise ban from the consultant, I don't have my usual option of running off any extra calories each night.

I've operated three main modes when it comes to food during this pregnancy:

Zero interest (sick as dog)
Self-explanatory really. Whilst I was luckier than most in that I was never actually sick, I did feel grim and hungover until about 12 weeks. Thankfully this was almost predictable to the minute (11 am -1 pm each day) so I could pre-plan. My handbag was never without breakfast bars and dried fruit boxes for the first 12 weeks.

Don't Stand Still, I Might Eat YOU!
I've been hungry before, of course. But until pregnant I had never experienced hunger so bad that it gnawed at my insides and rendered me absolutely incapable of doing ANYTHING other than eat. To the point where I would be reduced to tears and/or violence if anything stood between me and a meal. Again, this was mainly for the first 12 weeks (husband drew huge sigh of relief when we passed this milestone).

"Honestly, I'm Not Hungry." UNTIL Food is in Front of Me.
Towards the end of the second trimester I was really relaxed about food. The sickness had long gone. I wasn't ravenous. I was relaxed. Or so I thought. 

I've now discovered that once a plate of food is in front of me, whether at home, or in a restaurant, I chow down with the ferocity and enthusiasm of someone setting a Guinness World Record for Speed Eating. It ain't pretty, let me tell you. I could clear a plate in the time it takes for others to pick up their cutlery and re-arrange their napkin. Which I can just about get away with at home, but which is NOT a good look in a restaurant. What to do? I'm powerless.