One of These Things is Not Like the Other.

Can you guess? Sorry to keep posting about pregnancy, but it is weighing heavily on my mind… and body. Back to my ankles. Or rather, ankle.

About a week and a half ago, my leg began to hurt, and less than a day later, it turned into my great-grandmother DeFore’s cankle. After a week of “living with it” (since I have learned that calling the doctor for nothing short of hemorrhage only results in my feeling stupid.) I gave in and called the nurse at my doctor’s office. After 6-8 hours, she returned my call, and assured me that although it was not a fun one, it was a normal symptom of pregnancy. Me, feeling stupid.

By the end of the week I, being the vain woman that I am, was tired of dragging “Stumpy” (as Josh has dubbed him…) behind me. Not one to be deterred, I decided that the doctor would have some cosmetic advice to give. Nonchalantly, I mentioned the curious case to my doctor during the Q & A section of our visit. He laughed, of course, but decided to take a look at it all the same. This is where my day took a turn into the unusual.

While I lay on the exam table, the doctor, now in the presence of the very nurse that I had discussed my abnormality with at the beginning of the week, began to palpitate my foot, ankle, and calf. I gasped at all the appropriate times, of course, and after the exam was over, a dark shadow came across my doctor’s face. “I think that we need to send you to Radiology for a Venus Doppler Ultrasound.” Great. That sounds fun. “It’s probably nothing, but it could be… a clot.” Even better.

3 hours, one trip to North Las Vegas and back to Summerlin, and two overnight bags later, I got to experience the Venus Doppler Ultrasound. I am pretty certain that my technician was not yet a legal adult, though, I was sure that she knew what she was doing as she respectfully asked me to drop my pants to my ankles and lay on the gurney. I really should have kept track of all the individuals who have seen me naked in my lifetime… perhaps we’ll recount those on another date. It’s getting impressive.

Ah, the ultrasound: She explained the procedure, which sounded simple enough to me, and we began. She would place the wand at various places on my inner thigh, and push “gently” on my calf. I should have known better than to trust a teenager. Oh, the first bit of her explanation was spot on, but when it came to the next step, I must disagree. Wand in place, she reached across me, and proceeded to do what I can only describe as a “Slug Bug” to my very swollen and sore calf. After repeating this move for 5-10 minutes, I was allowed to reclaim my dignity and slink out of the office.

To summarize: After making half a dozen calls, I finally got the results of my Venus Doppler Ultrasound. I do not have a deep vein thrombosis. I am not going to die. Not last week, anyway. Sadly, that also means that Josh has to wait until the 8^th of May for an induction.  Sorry, baby.  I tried.

Body vs. Baby

“Do we need a news flash every time your body does something?”

-Diego, “Ice Age”

 Why yes, you do. It’s my blog, you see.

I am not sure if I am mad or relieved. I had another doctor’s appointment today, and finally the results of my 3-hour glucose test. Turns out, I do have gestational diabetes. Why, then, did I not get the results sometime in the last 11 days? Oh, that’s easy. I am a borderline gestational diabetic. But don’t worry… for good measure, I am still being sent to the dietician where I get my very own glucometer (can you rent those??), meal plan, and “education”. Whatever that means… my pamphlet does say “3 hours”, so at least it will be lengthy.

The good news: I have no family history of diabetes. I am not overweight. I guess that means that once the baby slips right out of there, I’m golden. Basically, the doctor explained it as my body, fighting the baby for sugar. Now that’s a funny image. I think that it’s really just the fates, informing me that I am not destined for the 12 children my loins long for. Shoot. Time for plan B.

Liars Abound

I am a vision. A Venus in denim panel pants. Mona Lisa with a greasy ponytail. If there is one thing that I have learned about being pregnant, it is that everyone you know, and some strangers, are suddenly willing to lie to you.

It ranges from, “Oh, no, those maternity stirrup pants don’t make your ankles look fat!” to “You know, you just might be the cutest pregnant lady I’ve ever seen!” (Got that little gem, standing in line at a Bath and Body Works store. I’d like to say that I didn’t take the compliment to heart, tear-up, and try to restrain myself from flinging my arms about the poor woman… I’d really like to, but I can’t.)

Another week—another trip to the doctor. More exposed lies.

I wish to publicly examine a few of these lies for you, so that you don’t get too cozy, as I have, in your gestational world.

 

1. A fetal heartbeat can tell you the sex of the baby.

False. For weeks leading up to my ultrasound, my baby’s heartbeat was somewhere in the high 150’s. Or as my doctor put it: The “Girl Range”. Now that’s a risky little game, telling a mother of two boys that she has a good chance at a girl. I would like to add that since the ultrasound and the ultimate reveal, my son’s heartbeat has gone back down to a more boyish 140. Perhaps he was anxious to find out for himself…

 

2. Wardrobe can affect perception.

True. A few weeks ago, while at the doctor’s office, I mentioned how big this baby felt, to which my doctor replied, “You don’t look that big.”. He proceeded to measure my belly with the paper  measuring tape, pointedly glance at my blouse, then added, “Of course, black can be deceptively slimming.”.

3.   You cannot develop gestational diabetes with subsequent pregnancies if you have not had a problem with a previous pregnancy (or two…)  

False. Turns out, this baby might just have a good reason for being huge. My last glucose test came back a little high, for which I have earned a ticket to the fun zone. Yep, turns out there’s a prize for a high glucose test. I get to spend my day on Monday, fasting for six hours, after which I will spend 3 hours in the waiting room of my doctor’s office, drinking “glucola” and having my blood drawn every hour. Anyone want to recommend a good book?  

The best news of all? If I triumph again, (fingers crossed…) I earn a trip to the dietician who will take away all complex carbohydrates and sugars from my diet.  Hooray! How can one girl be so lucky?

 Here’s looking forward to another 10 weeks of fun and myth busting.

My B.F.G.

Well, it’s official. I am a big-baby making machine. Really, it doesn’t surprise me. I knew what I was signing up for when I married my 6’3’’ knight in shining armor, who at his birth was a whopping 10 lbs 11 oz., 24 inches long.  Gailey men just come big.

Today, my doctor was actually trying to suppress a fit of giggles as he called my unborn child, “robust”. Thanks doc. I guess it’s not considered couth to call your patient’s baby “fat” to her face. Sadly, I can see through cleverly used synonyms. But for the benefit of my son, I am going to use the term, “above average”. Indeed, you cannot argue that 97^th percentile in utero is not quite the achievement.

For the record, I love my doctor. He’s great. Plus he shows strength in being able to hold his composure while discussing MY weight. Maybe only baby fat is funny…?

Here’s hoping that they decide to smoke the baby out before he becomes indefinitely wedged. As for me, I am giving up prenatal care. I can be laughed at anywhere else, for free.

The Naked Truth:

My heart is full of anticipation for the birth of my third son, and my body is full of life. I am big and I am beautiful, or at least that is what I chant as I see the reflection of my naked form in the mirror after a shower…I decided to take maternity pictures this time around, as my past pregnancies have only proven to me that my body can only go down from here. Plus, admit it, we all like to be a little bit naked every once in a while.


For those of you who believe that the pregnant body is a beautiful celebration of motherhood, and don’t mind a little nudity (not that much… I swear I’m covered), you may continue.


For those of you who do not revel in the beauty of the inspired creation that is the human form (or at least not mine…), this post is NOT for you. Turn back now.


For the few and the brave, I present, Brooks & Three at 24 weeks: