Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Perks of Pregnancy #3

I miss beer.

That is all.

Oh, and I just got a shot. In my butt.

There's nothing more awkward than pulling down your pants and bending over while discussing the weather. I'd venture to say even a pelvic exam is less awkward. I'm not sure why, but when someone comes at you with something that looks like one of those things you use to crank a car up to change a flat tire and intends to use it on your delicate parts you have more to worry about than feeling embarrassed. But when you're expecting something in the arm and suddenly the nurse is like, "Ok, pull down your pants and lean over the table" it makes me feel like I'm about to be in the wrong part of a Quentin Tarantino movie.

The shot was because I'm lucky enough to have a negative blood type, which means I get a shot now, and a shot after the baby is born so I don't develop an antibody to my own babies like some sort of Marvel comic gone wrong. What it also means is right now I am sporting a pink Hello Kitty band-aid on my tush. Don't be jealous!

And the day before the shot I got to take a glucose test screening me for gestational diabetes. To do this they make you drink a bottle the size and taste of orange cough syrup in five minutes. Doesn't seem so bad after the first sip, but halfway through the bottle when the OrangeSyrupOfDeath is staring you in the face, taunting you with it's sticky, sweet, pukey-ness and you realize you only have sixty seconds to down this bad boy before it's too late and you have to retake the test another day, it pretty much feels the way I imagine that time my High School boyfriend's dad made him eat an entire pack of cigarettes after he caught him smoking to teach him a lesson*. Except more sugary and less cancery.

(*technically at this point he was my best friend's High School boyfriend. we're very share-y.)(or we were, I'm betting if either one of us tried to date the other's significant other right now it would end in a bloody blood bath of blood bathed in bloody blood.) (and yet somehow we'd survive and go on to live our lives as old maids, knitting together, taking group vacations together where we follow around a guy waving a brightly colored flag through the crowded areas of whatever exotic town we're touring (like Tuscany, or Reno) so we don't get lost, and drink much too much sweet tea.)

Anyway, the good news is I don't have diabetes, and I won't spontaneously develop an antibody to my own children anymore!

I'm not sure which one I'm more excited about.

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