This past weekend, I was showered with love and gifts by my sisters and aunt and cousin and close friends, and it was beautiful. I had the greatest time. As it turns out, I really like having parties thrown in my honor (or my unborn child’s honor, same thing). To have everyone I love come together to celebrate ME (*sigh* the baby), it was just awesome.
So, I was riding this great gift high (seriously, opening presents should be a form of therapy, it’s the best thing ever), minding my own business, getting ready for my day of doctors appointments yesterday. Being almost 9 months pregnant, I’ve gotten pretty used to doctors appointments, and up until Tuesday, they’ve been fairly routine. So imagine my surprise when, in the course of one day and 2 doctors appointments, I discover that: I have to retake my glucose test, because I may have gestational diabetes; the sudden and pretty gnarly swelling in my feet and hands isn’t exactly normal and can in fact be a sign of preeclampsia (not a good thing to have); and my lovely, beautiful, perfect child is already getting too big for her britches, and weighs in at a pretty hefty 5 lbs (seems small, I know, except when you consider that I have almost 2 months left to go, and she’ll gain the majority of her weight from here on out). Not a good day for Mommy.
What does all this mean, exactly? Not as bad as it initially sounded, let me assure you. I have to retake my glucose test, which aside from being gross tasting, is not that big a deal. I’ve already taken the necessary steps to change my diet to a more diabetes friendly one, as a preemptive strike. Should I fail my test and actually have gestational diabetes, still not the end of the world–I keep my overhauled diet, check my blood sugar 4 times a day, and curse every single piece of cake I ate during my pregnancy. For the preeclampsia, I have to collect my pee for 24 hours, store it in my refrigerator, then take it to the lab on Friday morning and get my blood drawn. My poor husband has to look at a container of my pee in the fridge for 24 hours. It’s his least favorite preggo thing so far. I don’t have any of the other signs so far, so this is really just precautionary. And as for my giant baby? Eh, we watch her size, check it with another ultrasound in a few weeks, and I have a c-section. Not the end of the world, by a long shot. She’s totally healthy, and clearly hearty. She’s all good.
I feel like a schmuck, because this whole time, I’ve been cruising along, marveling at my normal pregnancy. Then BAM! not so normal. I’ve learned my lesson, that’s for sure. I took my healthy pregnancy for granted, and in return, my healthy pregnancy flipped me the bird and headed for the hills. From here on out, and any pregnancies hereafter, it’s all about me being healthy, and in turn, my baby being healthy. And here I thought the worst I had to worry about was heartburn. Which, by the way, is worse than ever. Yippee.