The Blah-Blah-Blog Edition
So I’ve been thinking back wistfully to the days when I used to update daily. Do you perhaps remember that? My eyes would pop open around 5:00 a.m. and I would bound out of bed, thinking, “I get to go write a blog post!”
And off I’d go, quite happily, to brew a cup of coffee and jot down my thoughts.
Not so, these days—not so. Blearily I pry open my eyes —this around 7:15 or so—to the silhouette of my son standing in the doorway. “Mom?” he whispers, soft but insistent. “Will you be ready to take us to school in fifteen minutes?”
And off I go, quite heavily, to brew a cup of coffee and…not much else.
(It’s an 8-mos-pregnant thing, I’m sure. It’s an I’m-46-and-8-mos-pregnant! thing.)
(What was God thinking? I know He knows.)
Well, in any case I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other things to do than worry about my daily updates. Therefore, I am conveniently abridging the past two weeks—giving you the “best of the best”, as it were, or in some cases, “This is worse than I hoped it’d be.”
“Worse” without being truly horrible, you know?
So here goes.
I. Two weeks ago, I didn’t have to worry about all the sweets that I ate.
Not anymore, I’m humbled to say! Not anymore.
Two Thursdays ago, on October 4th, I failed that darned 2-hour Glucose test. By one lousy point! My doctor told me that I had two choices: one, go to a diabetes clinic and learn how to keep my numbers down; or two, pick up a glucose monitoring kit at the pharmacy and monitor my levels at home.
I chose Option Number 2, and such fun it’s been, dear Internet friend! Four times a day, I get to poke my finger….and four times a day, I record the results. My doctor said to do one reading straightaway in the morning. This would be my “fasting level” and should be a number less than 90. The other three tests are taken an hour after eating, and should be a number less than 140.
So far so good! My levels have been low enough that my doctor said I could reduce the testing to twice a day. This is NOT to say that I’m off the hook, however, and I know this because of yesterday. I woke from an afternoon nap and was craving, of all ridiculous things, a wee little bowl of Cap’n Crunch.
(Please don’t judge me.)
So I poured myself a wee little bowl and it was so very delicious that I thought I’d have another wee bowl. BIG mistake. I checked my level an hour later and it was 12 points higher than it should be. My husband was impressed, I know, and is starting to think about his food choices.
(He had two much larger bowls of Cap’n Crunch for breakfast.)
(And aren’t I a little tattletale?)
Lesson learned. I am back to having protein for snacks and am avoiding that Cap’n like the plague.
II. One week ago, I had a spunky/sparky/sassy 7-year-old.
Not anymore! Angela turned 8 on the 11th and she didn’t even ask permission.
Her cake was made by her sister Cate, who very cleverly baked up two different cake mixes—one dark chocolate, one french vanilla—then added orange food coloring to the vanilla batter. Voilà! A very Halloween-y black & orange pumpkin cake.
(I thought about having a generous slice then remembered those pesky glucose strips.)
(So I gave my slice to the little guy in my tummy.)
III. Four days ago, I was not too worried about having this baby. And then I read this post by Calah.
First of all, my heart went out to that poor sweetie. My heart went out to her and came back to me, leaden with fear over all that might be. Like Calah, I do not want to have an epidural because, mainly, we don’t have insurance and also we are fond of meals.
(As in, those epidurals are really pricey.)
And yet…and yet…I’d kind of been banking on that epidural because—perhaps selfishly—I figure I’ve been through enough this pregnancy and don’t know that I’ll have the emotional reserves to go through labor naturally.
No insurance + no emotional reserves = getting squished + a rock + a hard place.
This is not where I want to be mentally! Not with only two months to go! So I’m praying more to St. Gerard and am talking to John about getting a doula. I figure that this is a good first start.
Better than a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, even.
Right?! Of course, right.