Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Beetus (part two).

I just realized that I never followed up on my post about gestational diabetes. Oops.

After hanging around the laboratory at the Cleveland Clinic for four hours and nearly starving to death, the official "diagnosis" is that I am "borderline diabetic", which is fancy doctor-speak for "you have diabetes except your numbers don't add up, so we can't actually tell you that you have diabetes or do anything to help you".

I passed the damn glucose test by one point, which, in my mind, shouldn't qualify as passing at all, especially if you are a 210+ pound whale-beast with a family history of diabetes who pees sugar like it's her job. But hey, I'm not a doctor, so what do I know?

Basically, I have to pretend like I'm diabetic and keep up the low-carb, no-to-low-sugar thing that has been working so well these past couple months. I'm extra salty over this. I don't get a glucose monitor, I don't get treatment, but I have to follow the diet (that doesn't work) anyway?

If I were a more petty individual, I'd be eating boxes of doughnuts before all of my remaining OB/GYN appointments and/or pouring sugar packets in my urine samples. My doctor should be glad that I am not that petty.

Friday, March 11, 2011


I've been sporting maternity pants for the past... five months? Six months, even? I'm over maternity wear. I can barely remember what it feels like to wear pants with an actual waistband. It's convenient to just pull down my pants in one fell swoop when I need to pee for the 47th time in an hour, but I really miss my zipper. I also miss not having my pants fall down every time I move.

Maternity shirts almost make up for the horror of maternity pants. I'm 5'10" tall, and most of that height is in my torso. I only have a 34" inseam, so I can get away with most pants without buying the "tall" size, but shirts are an entirely different animal. It is difficult to find shirts and sweaters that will cover my entire stomach, even when my stomach isn't threatening to take over the rest of my body.

Maternity tee shirts are awesome. They're not really any different from normal tee shirts, except that they're very, very long. Long enough to cover a giant baby bump on a regular-sized person.

My extra-long torso has blessed me with the ability to still look somewhat thin while people tell me I'm all belly. After all, unlike shorter women, I don't have to grow outwards to accommodate a baby--there's plenty of room between my pelvis and my ribs. I don't need to maneuver around a basketball where my stomach used to be--I don't really have a bump, I have a puffy torso. It's obvious that there is a baby in there, but at the same time, people keep asking me where I'm putting the 30+ pounds.

I keep offering to pull down my pants and let them see my 30-pounds-heavier butt, but they always decline. Why is that?

Anyway, maternity shirts. Since I don't look like I swallowed any sports equipment, the shirts don't need to stretch over my belly that much. A very long shirt that would look normal on a woman stretching it over 5+ inches of extra stomach is a perfectly-sized tee shirt on me. I'm loving it.

For the first time in my life, I don't need to worry about my shirt riding up over the top of my jeans... due to the same life event that causes most women to worry about their shirts riding up over their jeans.

Haha, suckers--everyone can see your elastic maternity band but no one can see mine! :P

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Birthing class.

My husband and I went to the first week of our birthing class yesterday... the only reason we're going back is because the class cost $90 and we didn't spend the money for nothing.

In any case, I think we stand a chance of getting kicked out for being disruptive. We have a serious, incurable case of the whispers/the giggles.

The instructor told us she was going to speak medical to us and then proceeded to refer to the uterus as "the baby's little apartment inside your body". The cervix is "the little door to the little apartment". Mucus plug? That's the little lock and key for the little door... um... yeah... there was only so much "little (noun)" I could take. I'm pretty sure I was making faces at parts, but the instructor was really ridiculous.

It only got worse with the "relaxation" part of the class. I don't think we stopped giggling. I can't handle guided meditation (it makes me uncomfortable), but I especially couldn't handle it with beaches where I was to become one with the sand and letting the color green take away my negative energy. I'm not even going to get into the part where the instructor attempted to tell us how to do kegels...

Just so that you don't think we're total jerks, the couple across from us had a few giggle fits, too.

Hopefully next week is better and less ridiculous...