I think you’ll pick up on today’s theme pretty quickly.
So, it’s Sunday, and that means I’ve made it to 30 weeks gestation. Fan-freakin’-tastic. You wanna know what being this far along really means? It means the following: my unborn children are big enough to fight/play with each other, and that usually entails putting a pointy body part into one of my ribs or especially squishy organs. My uterus has reached beach ball proportions and is pressing on everything — specifically lungs, bladder, and stomach. And that means that I’m easily short of breath, always have to pee, and — while frequently hungry — only able to eat tiny, toddler-sized portions. And heartburn. Dear God, the heartburn.
Oh, and what happens when I get sick, huh? I somehow managed to contract some sort of evil thing last week that initially presented as a slightly more stuffy nose than usual and turned into a horrible hacking cough AND nasal congestion on an epic scale. And let me tell you, violent coughing + 6ish pounds of baby sitting on the bladder = possible disaster. So I had to hunt up some maxi pads as a precaution against “accidents”. I couldn’t decide if it made me feel more like a puppy that hasn’t quite figured out the whole housebreaking thing or a 90 year old woman. Either way, it’s discouraging. Thankfully, it’s finally starting to clear up.
But lest I get too terribly pleased with myself of fighting off a stupid virus, let’s not forget that I failed my 1 hour sugar test a week and a half ago, so that means I get to take the lovely 3 hour glucose tolerance test tomorrow morning. To the uninitiated, this entails fasting for several hours (not even anything to drink!), an initial blood draw for control purposes, drinking a truly God-awful syrupy drink of doom (orange flavored), and then three more blood draws at hour intervals to see how well I process the sweet nastiness. Then, and only then, will I be able to have a FREAKING GLASS OF WATER and some breakfast. Oh, and my iron was super-duper low last time, so we’ll probably get to see if my double dose of extra iron pills have done anything useful.
I apologize to those of you who read this whole thing. But I’m tired and sore and hormonal and cranky, and I really really miss spicy tuna rolls and medium rare steak, that second cup of coffee and the occasional evening cocktail while I make dinner. I miss being able to see my feet and not having to wake up to roll over in bed and sleeping on my tummy. At this point, every day that I can keep my boys inside me is a blessing, and I know that the end result is totally worth all the discomfort, but dear sweet merciful Jesus, I’m so incredibly DONE with being pregnant right now.