Grumble. I am typing this post on my phone, because I have started my holiday vacation and I am shunning computers. Or at least keyboards. I have an app on my phone for composing and posting blog updates. Turns out the app is not great at running in the background. I had a decent chunk of this post written when I received a text message, changed apps to reply, and learned the hard way that moving away from the blog app deletes whatever draft one is working on. So, grumble. But on with the post!
First thought of the day: pregnancy has made me selfish. Especially when it comes to food, pillows, space on the couch, selecting restaurants, etc. This morning I went into Starbucks to grab drinks. I added a scone to the order, but just one, to share with Brad, because two hours earlier we'd eaten a decent breakfast. And because I've seen the nutritional information for Starbucks pastries. It is not friendly. Except for the eight-grain roll, which is delicious, even with the baked raisins, and relatively healthy, but inexplicably available only on the west coast. You're killing me, Starbucks.
But I digress. Want to guess how much of that scone I consumed? No, not the entire thing. I'm bad at sharing, but I haven't given up on the concept entirely. I ate close to 4/5 of the scone. And to make matters worse, when I admitted this to Brad, I told him that I did it because Tater really likes scones. Blaming my unborn child, whose opinion on scones is TBD, to justify food hoarding. Eep.
In my defense, it was a cranberry orange scone and scrumptious. Also, Brad let me hold the bag. Big mistake. Huge.
But I do not love all things orange-flavored. See, for example, glucose test beverages. Gag. For the uninitiated among you (and count yourself lucky), somewhere between 24 and 28 weeks doctors test to make sure pregnant women haven't developed diabetes. This test involves drinking said beverage and then subjecting yourself to a blood draw exactly one hour later.
According to the label, this drink is best served cold. I put it in the fridge overnight, but then I had to take it to work because my appointment was at 3:15. When I got to work, I considered putting the drink into the communal fridge. But I didn't, because I irrationally feared that, for what would surely be the first time in the history of glucose testing, someone would walk off with my orange-flavored test drink. Who would be such a glutton for punishment?
Regardless, I forced down the drink when it was lukewarm. Thus not at the peak of its palatability. It tasted like a cross between orange-flavored cough medicine and watered-down Karo syrup. The aftertaste was particularly bad, but after finishing the drink, water is off-limits until the blood draw.
The appointment went well. We got to see Doc G. Have I ever mentioned that he looks like a Ken doll? My blood pressure was good. So was my weight gain (always a relief). Tater's heart beat sounded wonderful. Stomach measurement must have been fine, because he didn't say anything about it.
He asked where I'd been feeling Tater's kicks, and I told him on the side and more recently closer to my breast bone. Apparently this is good. Might indicate that Tater is upside-down (that is, not breach).
He also asked whether we'd signed up for classes. Told him we're signed up in January for all of the classes he recommended -- breastfeeding, infant CPR, and the day-long orientation at the hospital. Also told him that we'd be taking a semi-private birthing class with a local woman who was highly recommended so I can learn more about the labor process and pain management techniques. Doc G thought this was a good idea and asked who was teaching the class. Me: "Um, I think her name is Holly." Brad: "HIGHLY recommended. We've clearly done our research." Me: "We're taking the class with my good friend Katie. She's done the research. She's trustworthy." So sad that I know more about strollers and gliders than I do about delivering a baby. Thank goodness for Katie.
I told Doc G about the light-headedness, shortness of breath, racing heart problem. (Yup. That's still going on.) I called the problem "extreme," which apparently is the code word to get doctors to pay attention. Doc G ordered some extra bloodwork to rule out some possible causes (other than large growing fetus jockeying for room in the space shared by my lungs, diaphragm, etc.). I know he ordered a test for thyroid problems, possibly iron deficiency? I am, perhaps, a little too deferential and laid-back about this pregnancy process.
Oh! And we're supposed to start shopping for a pediatrician. I'll let you know how that goes.
So they took four vials of blood from me for all the testing. Then I had to get a shot because I'm RH-negative. My blood type is A-. Brad's is B+. He thinks our respective blood types are amusingly accurate. Har har. Turns out this shot is administered in the toushy. Which makes it the first toushy shot I've received in, oh, 20-something years.
Doc G called with the blood test results this morning, and everything looked good! This is awesome, because it means I don't have to redo the glucose test. Phew. That means more glucose drinks for the rest of the world. That counts as sharing, right? You're welcome, rest of the world.
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