Three Weeks Until Liftoff

I’m at the 36 week mark, and already I am crying, “Uncle!” Too bad the doctors don’t agree with me, so I am going to half to stick it out until G-Day. Log has even encouraged me to go the distance, which is funny because I am not in charge of this growing a human thing anymore. Nope, the show is now entirely dictated by the human larvae that is happily taking up residence where my other internal organs were quite comfortable. My belly looks like a swallowed a watermelon whole, but the sonogram today only reveals that she is around 5.5 lbs. Some days, I can’t even dress myself. I trust that Log puts on matching socks (which he does), but most days, I don’t even care if they do match.

Last night, I had to go into the hospital to get checked out because my blood pressure was elevated. My coworkers have been pretty diligent about monitoring it at work. So, assless gown, fetal monitor, and one straight cath later, the docs decide my coworkers don’t know how to take a blood pressure, which has typical of doctors. Get a reading you don’t like? Blame the machine operator. Whatever. Anyone can have a low blood pressure reading while laying on their side. My “issues” were not enough to make Little G come early, nor was it enough for them to decide I should cut out from work early. So, business as usual starting tomorrow when the alarm clock goes off at 6am.

Weekly ultrasounds continue. Log usually can’t go due to work, which is fine. He made it to one last week, though. Instead of the much more interesting one where they take all of the baby’s measurements, including weight, Log gets to be present for the mandatory butt-swabbing (mine) to see if I am carrying some sort of Group B strep (I’m not).

On a happier note, Log has painted the nursery in lovely pink and gray. We’re redoing the flooring before we add the decorative touches, not to mention furniture, to the room. Walking by the room, I pause and look inside. It still seems surreal to me that in less than a month, I’m going to be someone’s mom. I’m told by newly minted parents that this shock will amplify once we get her home, and last for about a month or so until we decide we have somewhat of handle on this parenting thing.

We’re pretty excited. And scared shitless at the same time.

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And How Are You Doing Today?

Here I am, at the 33 week mark. In what people refer to as the “home stretch”. Second trimester passed ok. I didn’t feel “the best ever”, but I didn’t feel lousy. I guess it was as close to normal as I had felt since those two little lines showed up on the pregnancy test. However, the third trimester has been a different story entirely.

I did the glucose challenge, right around week 25 or so, and just barely failed with one number being over the mark. But with glucose challenges, there is no barely passing. The parameters are there, it’s yes or no only. So, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.

Now, I used to work with diabetics on a regular basis. For at least 10 years inpatient. You could say that I knew a lot about juvenile and type 2 diabetes. Gestational, however, is a completely different animal, and my knowledge certainly never covered this ground. I was admitted inpatient for a couple of days for insulin management. I was pissed. I knew how to given injections, I certainly could give them to myself. The hospitalization derailed a plan for Log and I go visit family for the weekend. So, with the insulin, the hospitalization, the missed trip, and the hormones…I was devastated.

For three days, I sat in a hospital room, eating crappy hospital food while pumping myself with what I thought was too much insulin. There, I found out why they admit all the baby beedus moms for insulin management. The high risk program I am in demands their patients to have chronically low blood sugar. So, I would sit in the bed, diaphoretic, shaky, hypoglycemic, and everyone would be happy about it. My internal nurse brain screamed. Everything defied logic of 10+ years of diabetes management. Numerous conversations with a coordinator did help somewhat as they explained the physiology behind it. My age, my history of PCOS were the main contributing factors, and no amount of good eating would have prevented it. It will go away once the placenta (the acting cock-blocker of my pancreas) leaves my body. I’ve only got a short time left, so I can deal with the shots and finger sticks. It still pisses me off though, but it helps knowing that a lot of women go through it.

I’ve been insanely tired. Almost narcoleptic. I also have to pee a lot, day and night, which might explain partly of why I am so tired. Oh, and heaven help me if I have to sneeze.

And my hands? I haven’t been able to feel them for about a month now. The extra volume of fluid I am carrying around is compressing nerves, which causes numbness in my hands. I tried to put in an IV the other day, and failed miserably. So, I have had to hang up my tourniquet until after the baby comes.

Overall, I feel like my body is less mine, and more just a vessel for the tiny human to marinate in until she is ready to come out. I admit, I am excited to meet her. I get weekly ultrasounds now, so I get to see her each week. Last week, she yawned a lot. She even smiled once. So yeah, she can use my body for as long as she needs it, which shouldn’t be too much longer.