Mommy used to have trouble eating for one

My job rarely rewards me. There's a fair amount of stress, and a lot more negative "fan" mail (and e-mails and phone calls and voicemails...) than the positive kind. However, I've had the opportunity to take something that was really personal and important to me and turn it into an educational experience for (at least some of) my readers: a three-part series on eating disorders, which was printed this week.

I'm my toughest critic, but overall I am pleased with how the series turned out (See Part One, Part Two and Part Three). It took a lot of time and research and a lot of personal strength because of my experience with anorexia and bulimia for seven years in high school and college.

My journey to "recovery" was long and difficult and even now, I can't type recovery without quotation marks. It's not that I'm not eating or haven't been taking care of myself. It's just that I highly doubt I'll ever truly live without contemplating my former way of life at least once a day or several times a week.

I was told a lot of scary facts when I first started seeing professionals, most of them aimed at scaring me right out of my dangerous routine. A lot of it didn't stick with me. Two 'pearls of wisdom' did, however, stay in mind all this time: That the many years of being cruel to my body could mean infertility issues; and that if I ever did get pregnant, eating right and eating right for two could be a near-impossible task for me.

I've proved them all wrong.
So far, she adds with hesitation and that bit of realism that put recovery in quotes.

I didn't just snap my fingers and fall into becoming a mother or becoming pregnant. I spent years gradually improving my eating and exercise habits -- namely, eating more frequently (and therefore more) and worrying about exercise and calories less and less. It wasn't just a quick and easy decision. I had the support of many loved ones, like my dear friends Jeannine, Nicole, Kacey and others and of course with the love and watchful eye of Scott.

It was my love for him and my hope for our future that always kept those evil thoughts far enough away, like the angel voice over your one shoulder, pushing the devil out of the picture.

My eating disorders had even kept me from having regular periods for many years (most of my 20s, really) and when, about 6 months before our wedding, even that became more regular and predictable, it was like my body was letting me know that maybe everything would be alright after all.

When we got that positive pregnancy test in early December, my eating habits hadn't even yet crossed my mind. The first time I questioned myself was about 3 to 4 weeks ago, at the last bit of nausea and food aversions, when Scott very quietly brought up the fact that he didn't think I was eating as much as I could or should be at that point.

I couldn't face him and I ran upstairs to a hot bath and some quiet moments alone. While I still maintain that the little bit of eating that day or week really was pretty much out of my control, I vowed I would never, ever let Scott, myself or any of my loved ones worry that I wasn't giving everything I had to Little Baby Z.

And surprisingly enough, it's been so much easier than I could have expected so far.

I absolutely love my new curves and my ever-growing mid-section.
I'm reminded of a note in a birthday card from my Aunt Dot.

She wrote that she felt absolutely beautiful during her pregnancies with my two cousins and that she always felt like she had company.

It's so true.
Although I can't feel the baby yet and I definitely can't hear his or her precious voice yet, I know with ever fiber of my body that there is a beautiful baby inside of me, depending on me for all of its nutrition and pretty much for its survival.

I speak to the baby several times a day and let it know that it will forever be loved.
And it will never hunger for anything -- literally or figuratively.