When I was pregnant with Bre, they made me drink this thick syrupy orange goo for my GD test. I remember having to squeeze the stuff out of the tube because it didn't drip. It oozed.
I also remember throwing up all over the nurse's shoes right before I passed out.
Even though the stuff is less road paving material now, it still fills me with dread to have it done. Still, I know that I have too. Gestational diabetes doesn't seem like a grand party to me.
When I was pregnant with David, they had this stuff that just tasted like really cheap cola. Gross, and fuzzy, but it worked.
This time I was offered fruit punch or......
I wasn't tempting fate again so I chose 'fruit punch'. It tasted like someone had mixed cheap cough syrup with an otter pop.
While I didn't throw up on anyone or pass out, I did actually feel sick this time. With David I was craving cheeseburgers within 2 minutes.
I'm not sure what this says for the results. I'm not going to worry about it. No really, stop laughing. I'm not. I have enough other stuff I can send myself into a tizzy about.
I think if we do this baby thing again (stop laughing), I'm going to get frisky and ask for a combo of orange and fruit punch. Maybe I'll get to puke in technicolor.
I did something today that never ends well and always leaves me feeling a little sick.
I bought clothes.
I have one pair of maternity pants that fit so comfortably (the rest either show off entirely too much ass-crack and though lovely it may be, it's not for public viewing or are so loose that I have to staple them closed. And it's just awkward to carry a stapler in your purse for when you have to use the bathroom.) and I wear them all the time. I also have no shorts. Something I think I may actually need this summer (I freeze Joe out every night with the window open even though it's like 30 degrees at night).
Today my comfy jeans sprouted a hole in the knee and I cried. Mostly because I already knew that every pair of jeans I saw lately had 'low-rise' in the name and do we really need to discuss how much I loathe low-rise?
But I did it. I found a pair of non-low-rise (aka- ass-crack revealing), non-embroidered (????? on that fashion statement) denim maternity pants that would not cause me to take out a loan. I also found a pretty shirt and capris. I'm pretending not to notice how much I spent.
David has this really great habit of pointing out the obvious.
To the lady in front of us at the store when she foolishly smiled at him:
"Dis is my butt. See?" (and yes, he pointed to it)
To the teacher who just wanted to get her mail when I was putting in flyers at Bre's school:
"I farting" (I could hear her laughing down the hall. I so hope he has her when he starts school)
To me, though thankfully not in public this time, as I was bending over to pick up his giraffe:
And then he poked me in the butt.
This kid is killing me.