Oh yay. This week, it was time for the dreaded glucola drink.
Which actually ended up not tasting too terrible. The nurse handed it over, I cracked it open, took a sip, and said, “Hey, this isn’t that bad!” Then downed it in less than five minutes, which is the window they give you to ingest it.
Although my doctor didn’t require it, I fasted from dinner until appointment time in terms of food. I’ve been having cereal for weeks, you see, so I figured the sugar rush before the appointment probably wasn’t a good idea. Besides, it gave me an excuse to get a Starbucks breakfast sandwich afterward.
Besides taking the drink and then waiting an hour for the blood draw, my 28-week appointment was pretty low key. My blood pressure’s good, my weight gain is good, Dubya’s heartbeat is good, and my urine sample was delivered without issue (these days, I have a hard time seeing myself in a situation where I didn’t have to use the bathroom). Dubya immediately started doing the samba following the glucola, which is what she usually does following a pumpkin spice latte (nonfat, no-whip latte, that is).
(Actually, Dubya’s become quite the dancer as of late. Even at 3am, she’s moving around like she’s Jennifer Beals. It’s a reassuring thing, honestly.)
Today, the results came back: all normal. Bring on the pumpkin pie and whip cream for Thanksgiving, bitches.
I’m graduating to a visit in three weeks, then a visit two weeks after that, then weekly visits once I hit 36 weeks. Time, in my opinion, is slipping by quickly, which is both good and bad. Good: Dubya will be here in February and I will rain kisses down on her sweet face. Bad: there’s no way in hell I’m going to get all of my work done before then.
Other news: my mom and sister visited a couple of weeks ago to throw my baby shower. It was a lovely day! It was a small gathering of friends, but very fun. It ended with a champagne toast (sparkling cider for yours truly) and it seemed like everyone had a good time—there wasn’t a mass exodus as soon as the last gift was opened, which seems to happen at these things.
I will confess that I was hurt by some people who didn’t RSVP or who said they’d be there verbally and then never showed. One person in particular, who knows we had trouble, whose showers (yes, plural) I sat through to be a pal despite TTTC, who said she’d be there—she’s avoiding me now that she missed it. Best way to get past a mistake is to own it, but seems like that won’t happen. I’m getting over it, but I do acknowledge it hurt.
But I also know I have friends I can count on, though, so that’s fantastic!
Things are slowly coming together for Dubya’s arrival. My friends and family have been incredibly generous and she’s stocked to the gills with clothes and baby necessities (car seat, stroller, monitor, etc.). Her nursery furniture is in—we just have to make space in her nursery to actually accept delivery of the furniture. Our landlord is working with us to install a washer and dryer in our unit, which means no treks (down three flights of stairs, across a courtyard, down another flight of stairs; reverse route) to the laundry room with a baby strapped to one of us. The husband and I are taking childbirth classes and have an infant CPR class scheduled for December; now we just need to get in for the hospital tour. And the week of Christmas will bring one last growth scan to see how our little girl is doing in there.
All the while, Dubya’s dancing away, punching, kicking, and flipping around inside of me.
I have to say it: I love every moment of this.