It's no surprise to anyone who knows me that I've been a bit... nervous about this whole pregnancy thing. Even though I got a clean bill of health at my last physical, things didn't go exactly according to my ultimate and perfect plan. You can go ahead and laugh at that. It is funny. But I had a plan. Or at least... strong wishes.
Gaining 30lbs when I stopped taking birth control certainly wasn't on my list. That fact pushed me into a whole new category as far as the evil BMI is concerned, and if there is any time in the history of ever that you want to be at your absolute best physical condition, I'm pretty sure it's when you're trying to grow another human inside you. Or run a marathon, or lift things twice your weight for fun. Those seem like good times to have all your fecal matter aggregated.
I considered waiting until I could more perfectly get my poop in said scoop before trying. As you can tell, I decided against that plan. I went with the "do what you can while you try" plan. There were lots of vitamins and an increase in my WiiDR time and more fresh veggies and less french fries. You know, those kinds of good things. Then, there was Freckle, and oh did I find 100 new things to worry about. I worried that my body wouldn't do what I wanted it to (grow a healthy baby) or there would be complications. Now, I realize that I am by no means out of the woods yet, so I don't mean to toot my own horn as though everything from now on is smooth sailing and fine and all my worries will be gone. No. Not true.
However, there is something so incredibly satisfying about hearing your doctor say, "You've been taking really good care of yourself! I'm so proud of you." Yeah, she said that. I may have gotten a little misty-eyes because you guys? Being "healthy" isn't really something that I excel at. I excel at indulgence, not self-control. So, I was worried about taking the glucose tolerance test today.
Which totally blows my mind because I have friends whose little girl was born at 25 weeks, 1lb 4 oz, 11.3" long--and is HOME NOW. 4 months old, barely a month past her original due date, and growing, thriving and generally kicking butt with pink bows upon her head. I can truly say that I just can't imagine. I mean, when it happened, I knew it was early. Really early. Scary early. Now... now I have just the littlest glimpse at just how early that really is, how blessed that family is, how wonderful a gift little Sarah is.
I'm going to stop talking about THAT now, because I've had enough of the weepy. Really, the past few days have been full of a lot of... whining! No other word for it. I got a cold, I was tired, etc., etc., etc. But today... today is a good day.