Yeah, it kind of sucked. I am glad we went but … still. There were about twelve couples, including some teen-agers and their baby-daddies, plus our fearless instructor, who knew her stuff but was not very animated. Most of the couples were bland but some — like the guy who read a novel during class and the woman who came to class in sweats and pearls (and, yes, they were together) — were downright annoying.

I know that as a third-trimester pregnant woman, I should probably still not be so bitter. Sitting in this classroom with all these super-pregnant woman still got to me. It was obvious some of these couples were excited to be parents; it was also obvious some were not. Yet, presumably, all were there with healthy pregnancies. The teenage couples, of course, did not have miscarriages, let alone two in a row. Of course.

We did the “intense” course, which was Friday for three hours and Saturday for eight hours. It was exhausting, even though I found the subject matter interesting. It was nothing that I could not have gotten from a book, but Mr. MC and I had fun making snide comments (we were not rude; the instructor laughed with us) about the cheesy class material. “What are some things that will help moms relax in early labor?” “Whiskey?” “What should moms expect during the transitional phase of labor.” “Someone to bring her whiskey?”

The only really, really sucky part, however, was the tour of the birthing facilities and the postpartum floor tour. This is what I had been looking forward to the most as I had not yet seen one of the fancy new “birthing rooms.” They were, admittedly, very nice and without the huge bed in the middle, looked like a really nice hotel suite. The tub is not big enough for birthing, but plenty big for laboring in, and it was immaculately clean and filled with lots of muscle-relaxing jets.

After the birthing rooms, we walked past the nursery en route to the postpartum rooms. As luck would have it, there was an hour-or-so old baby in there getting her first bath. I could not believe how utterly beautiful she was. Mr. MC and I just stood there gawking at her with a handful of the other mothers. Most of the dads, however, were bored and whining. I wanted them to be in awe of this beautiful, healthy baby, too. Did they know how amazing and miraculous this little life was? I had two pregnancies that never resulted in one of these. How dare they sit there and complain about being bored? Fuckers.

Where I really lost it, however, was the tour of the postpartum floor. I have been hospitalized here twice: once after my first miscarriage post-D&C debacle and second this pregnancy with the hyperemesis. I guess I did not realize how much being there, especially with all these ungrateful idiots, would affect me. When I was admitted with the hyperemesis, I was so sick and drugged that I barely knew where I was. I felt a little sad, but mostly I the nausea and migraines were so overpowering that I did not have time to think about the last time I was there. This time around, however, it really hit me. It was really hard to contend with a flood of emotions about my previous pregnancies while at the same time listen to couples twittle on about whether the room they stay in will have a private shower.

Luckily, we were able to find a secluded corner where I could bawl my eyes out.

Does this resentment for annoyingly naive pregnant women ever go away?

Most of my pregnancy books and websites advise that you “walk through” sciatic pain and strongly advise that exercise, specifically walking, actually helps diminish the pain.

They are full of shit.

What starts out as intense, localized pain in my left bum cheek quickly turns into intense, shooting pain down my entire left hip and leg after about two minutes of walking.

I left campus today and walked home (usually a 15-minute walk) because exercise is good for blood sugars and supposedly good for sciatica. 10 minutes in and I was limping; by the time I got home, I could barely walk.

You know what works for my sciatica? Laying in bed on a heating pad and reading Glamour magazine.

I doubt many parents want to hear that their child is “unremarkable,” but when we heard that he-beastie’s spine (he decided to cooperate this third time) was “unremarkable,” Mr. MC and I both breathed a sigh of relief. “Unremarkable” because there is nothing abnormal to remark about; “unremarkable” because it looks just fine.

I also found out that my sugars — both the fasting blood sugar and the 2PP sugar — are also “unremarkable” as they were both well within the normal range. My hemoglobin test (the one that indicated how long blood sugars have been high) came back on the low end of normal, which is very, very good news. The low-carbohydrate diet is working, and I will stay on it for the duration of the pregnancy. I do not  now officially have gestational diabetes, but I just need to be very careful about what I eat.

Here’s to being totally and completely normal!!

I called Wednesday morning before I headed to the lab to confirm that I did not indeed need an appointment for my 3GTT. It turns out you do need an appointment for a 3GTT, but I was not scheduled for a 3GTT, I was scheduled for a 2-hour PP test. “A what? A PP test?” It is not a urine test; instead it stands for two-hour post prandial glucose test, which in my opion, is just about the mostest awesomest medical test ever.

I went in and had my blood drawn for my fasting glucose test, and then, IN ORDER TO COMPLY WITH THE NEXT PHASE, I was told to go and eat a large, sugary breakfast. I was atually told by a medical professional to go to IHOP and eat pancakes, orange juice, eggs, hashbrowns, etc…. For someone who has been eating almost no refined carbohydrates for a week, this was music to my ears. (I actually had to ask her to repeat herself, to make sure I wasn’t imagining things!). When I ate my last bite, I wrote the time down and showed up back at the lab to have my blood drawn exactly two hours later.

Pancakes! With Syrup! and Orange Juice! Oh My!

I don’t know the results yet, but if I can eat one of these breakfasts every few weeks in order to comply with medical diagnostic needs, I promise I will not complain about eating no refined carbohydrates in between.

I have to redo the dreaded 3-hour glucose tolerance test Wednesday morning.  This time I am bringing my own blanket and pillow so when the inevitable lightheadedness and nausea hit, I can lay down on something familiar.   

I have been on a very low-carbohydrate diet since I got the dreaded news last Wednesday (the test was last Tuesday) and I have read that even doing that for a week can significantly improve your insulin resistance.  Admitedly, I was eating a lot of bad carbs before the first two tests.  Even worse, I was drinking a soda a day because it helped settle my still-sensitive stomach in the late afternoon.  Even if I “pass” this second 3GTT, I am going to keep eating like this for the duration of the pregnancy.   

He-beastie, by the way, thinks glucose tests are fantastic fun.  He goes bonkers when I eat something as mundane as salad, so the rush of the 100mg of glucose pounded down in a mere five minutes is utter ecstacy.  It looked like someone was popping popcorn in my uterus — POW! BAM! POP! — for at least 30 minutes once the glucose hit his system.  Too bad we can’t combine the glucose test with the ultrasound on Friday as it would be a hoot to watch that kind of activity on an ultraound monitor.   

Writing about gestational diabetes is boring, so let’s write about something less boring: boobs! 

I have not had to size up in a bra yet this pregnancy.  I have made do with the bra extenders but I suspect that sometime in the near future  I am going to have to invest in new maternity/nursing bras.

The problem is that the only maternity store in the area sucks.  Really sucks.  I had the lady (the one lady that seems to work there) measure me a few weeks ago and she measured me smaller than I actually am now.  Aside from the sizing issue, their bras were awful and flimsy.  There was no way they were going to hold the girls now, let alone in a milk-engorged state.

I really like high quality bras and I see the higher cost as an investment in my comfort.  (They also tend to last much, much longer, as long as you hand wash them.)  Pre-pregnancy #3, since I know my size, I just usually ordered them off the internet.  The question is, though, what do I do about a nursing/maternity bra?  Do I order one in one size up via the internet?  Do I wait to measure until I am in labor and then quickly place an internet order?  How much bigger will they get?  Do I just go up a cup size?  The hospital suggests you bring 2-3 nursing bras to the hospital, so most women must buy them before they have their baby, right?  Lastly, is it wrong to buy maternity bras off the internet without ever being fitted? 

I passed my 3-hour test, but only by one point.  (AGAIN WITH THE ONE POINT!)  They do four draws, and having high sugars for two out of the four warrants the dreaded “gestational diabetes” diagnosis.  I had one high one, and one that was only “not high” by one point.  That is way too close for comfort.   

I am back on, irony of ironies, the South Beach Diet.  Bring on the omlettes!   

Edit: I am going to eat a very low-card diet for a few weeks and then repeat the 3-hour glucose test.  Last time I had to lay down 30 minutes after drinking the orange-flavored, slightly carbonated syrup (OFSCS) so I didn’t throw up and/or pass out.  The nice ladies at the lab let me sleep there for the rest of the test, only waking me when I needed my hourly sticks.  It was not a fun test, but I want he-beastie to be healthy, so I am now back to pretending that sugar-free lime Jello is a delicious dessert.  “Mmmmm…. delicious jelly donuts sugar-free lime Jello.” 

Actually, I have a lot of points to make, but let’s not dwell on all those other points.  Let’s, instead, focus on the one point that pushed me over edge of my glucose tolerance test.  The cut-off was 130 and I was (do the math! do the math!) … 131.

Frack.

Now, I am not too worried, especially because we realized today that I had just probably not fasted the appropriate amount of time.  My OB’s office told me not to eat/drink after midnight, an order to which I dutifully complied.  I drank the liquid at 7:15AM and had my blood drawn at 8:15AM, which is only 8.25 hours of fasting as I had a bowl of Coco Krispies just before midnight.  The lab today told Mr. MC that you need to fast for 10-12 hours to get an accurate reading.

Frack.

Given the risks, I understand why they are moving to the 3-hour diagnostic test.  Still.  Ugh.  Frack.

On more optimistic note, we finally registered at the dreaded baby megastore (alternate names: “Parents R Suckers;” “Babies R Expensive;” or “Fetuses R Consumers?”)  I have allowed a shower to be scheduled at the end of May.  We are also going to childbirth classes on May 2nd and 3rd.  The world thinks I am actually having a baby or something?!?

He-beastie’s non-cooperative nature has also landed us another ultrasound on May 2nd.  He still, after two post-20 week ultrasounds, refuses to show the nice ultrasound lady the lower part of his spine.  They want confirmation that his spine is healthy before clearing me for a vaginal delivery.  I am pretty sure everything is fine if he can sleep with his toes on his forehead, but I am always game for another ultrasound.  I also gained 2 lbs. in 2 weeks, so they are no longer concerned with growth issues, even though I am carrying “small.”     

Yes, it would have been better if Mr. MC had been able to join me.

Yes, it would have been better if I had been able to meet Alice (of Into the Rabbit Hole).

Yes, it would have been better if I had not had to deal with a wicked migraine.

Still, I had a great weekend in NYC.

I ate delicious food (the pizza restaurant was amazing — I almost cried it was so good) and then discovered the joys of pregnancy-induced heartburn.  Regardless, it was worth it.  I even had (GASP!!) a glass of wine with my awesome Italian food, because the water I was drinking was just not doing it justice.  (I had, however, previously asked for my OB’s permission because I am that sort of annoying patient.)   

I slept in the mornings until I woke up and then went to bed whenever I wanted.  Clearly, I need a lot of sleep because I never woke up before noon.  It was wonderful.  My hotel was just a few blocks off of Broadway, but my room was so quiet I could not hear a thing from the street. 

I shopped, and since Mr. MC wasn’t there, I did all my girl-y shopping: maternity dress, shoes (ON SALE!!), purses, over-priced salon products, etc….  I had a manicure and pedicure at Bliss salon.  I had a pregnancy massage and a pregnancy facial at the Edamame spa.  I lack the vocabulary to describe how utterly delicious pregnancy pampering is. 

Some random things I discovered:

1) He-beastie is a very active little fetus.  He also likes shopping on the Upper-East Side, juding from the increased quantity of movement.  He also likes it when I eat, lay down, or look at expensive art that I can not possibly afford in this lifetime.

2) Maternity stores are still evil.  They are filled with happy, glowing pregnant women and annoying, bitchy salesladies who make me uncomfortable.  ”Destination Maternity” on Madison Avenue manages to pack three stores of them into one building, all carrying clothes at different price points.  Two of them (A Pea in the Pod and Mimi Maternity) do not carry XL sizes, as the stupid skinny liitle anorexic bitch sales lady informed me.  You sell maternity clothes and you don’t carry XL?  Really??  The one time I need a nice dress, and I am left with the low-end line (Motherhood Maternity) that only sells 100% polyester or 100% cotton jersey dresses.  I found one that worked after I threw a black jacket over it, thankfully.

3) I have chloasma on my face.  It was weird to have freckles on my nipples, but aparently all the new freckles on my face are the beginnings of the “mask of pregnancy.”  Harmless, and much less annoying than pukeapalooza or the heartburn, but I still bought the lightening cream.

4) My migraines are partially caused by hormones and, according to the woman who gave me my pregnancy massage, the fact that my neck is a “bloody mess” (my words, not hers).  It is painfully tight, and while the massage helped, it was only a short-term fix.  I found a massage therapist here who does pregnancy massage, so I think I am going to have to start going more often.  Having 2-3 migraines a week is not fun.               

Tomorrow I am 28 weeks pregnant.  7 months.  Holy crapola. 

I feel a bit pervy even asking this, but here goes:

Anyone in the NYC area want to grab dinner with me on Saturday, 12 April? 

I am going to be in the city, Mr. MC can’t come with me, my best friend in NYC moved to LA, the people I am meeting up with do not arrive until Sunday, and I am DYING to go eat real Neopolitan Pizza at Pizza Fresca.  I can always go alone, of course, with a good book, but who wants to dine alone on glorious food when you can have company and bitch about infertility, pregnancy loss, and pregancy after a loss, right?   

The rest of Saturday will be spent getting a facial, shopping for something maternity-ish and fancy-ish to wear later that weekend, and trying not to buy a ton of cute baby stuff that we do not need (but I do kind of want even though I am currently having a strong reaction to the “baby-as-accessory” phenonmenon). 

Leave me a comment if you are interested!?