If I do end up having gestational diabetes, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. I've done well with controlling my portions, staying active even when I don't feel like it and generally just trying to be healthier. Both of my grandmothers had the beetus later in life so it very well could be genetics that are working against me, not my occasional bad habits. Either way, it will be a pain to deal with poking myself for the next few months if I come back positive, but I can handle it. And maybe my change in diet will get Joshua to change his less-than-healthy eating habits too. I should know my fate by the end of next week.
And now the coolest thing ever.
Last night we had an Ordeal of the IKEA Variety. We (and by "we" I mean Joshua and David while I was at a baby shower for my dear friend Carol) bought an amazing entertainment center that bolts to the wall and has doors to hide stuff and also doesn't look like it's about to topple over onto small children. All these things are a massive bonus given our impending arrival and the already very active toddlers we have in our life. Hooray for no more of my hovering next to the TV.
Of course if you've ever purchased something from IKEA you know it's not always quite as easy as it sounds, or looks. Creepy illustrations of safety dos and don'ts complement the pages upon pages of steps instructing you, the sucker consumer, where to insert small pegs and hand-screw oddly-shaped bolts. Ingenious designs, but totally a pain in the ass.
This is where it gets cool.
Into hour 4 of our IKEA Ordeal, way past my bedtime especially given the amount of socializing I had done for the day, I'm in a foul mood and coming down off what is surely my 18th wind while laying on the couch, half-watching Joshua affix the doors to the shelving units. Shirt up to give the belly some air, resting my hand where Squirrel usually hangs out, not really wanting or hoping for anything extraordinary to happen because surely she's is just as tired and uncomfortable and pissed off as I am.
And then, my belly hits a 9 on the Richter scale. The symbiote is having an incredible rock concert that shakes my entire stomach and as suddenly as it started, it stops... and a tiny appendage pokes up, makes its way across about 3 inches of stomach, and disappears.
Peter, Paul and Mary what in the HELL was that??
It was like Shark Week... a single fin emerging from the mysterious deep, narrated by Jacques Cousteau in my delirious brain. I'd been given a live, non-electronically-assisted glimpse of something human inside me and my only verbal response was some combination of "whooooaaaa" and "oh WOW that was weird". I begged her to do it again. I even called her by her full name in true mom-style, hoping to strike fear into her precious little heart to perform for me one more time. No luck. And I have yet to feel another knee... or elbow.
Her performance did thrust me into my 19th wind, and we did end up finishing the entire 3 pieces of the entertainment center and shelving that we purchased, albeit not completely finalized nor bolted to the wall. A kick, nudge, fin from her is all it took to get me back into a productive, happier mood. Looking forward to much more of that sort of unconditional, innocent encouragement outside of the womb from you, Squirrel.
The mostly finished product of our IKEA Ordeal. Doors and drawers make me happy in the mommy pants.
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