Archive for October, 2007
Since I have A- blood and my husband doesn’t and we don’t know the baby’s blood type, I needed to get an Anti-D immunisation. I thought that this involved a series of shots from late in the pregnancy until the end, and then more after the birth, but it turns out it’s just one in the third trimester, and then one after the birth.
The nice nurse explained that Anti-D is given as a shot in the butt – which is a first for me, so that was novel. It was quick and painless, and I was instructed to hang around the nurse’s station for 20 minutes in case I didn’t feel well. I could certainly feel where I’d been pricked, but by the time I stood up to walk home I felt as good as new.
I heard that the glucose challenge test was really nasty, so certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy the experience. One of the nice nurses mixed up a concoction for me, and poured it into a very large cup – a drink of about 500 ml, maybe more, within which was 50 grams of sugar. She told me to try to drink it as quickly as possible, and I managed to down the whole lot in one go. She had mixed lemon cordial into it so it was like a tart-sweet cordial, very tasty. Then I had to sit in the waiting room for an hour so they could measure my response afterwards – good thing I’d brought a book.
When I went back in so they could take my blood, I clarified with them that I’d really eaten as much sugar as I thought I had, and the nurse said “Yes, of course … you didn’t feel it?”. Once I got home I did feel like I was on a bit of a sugar high, but in the most pleasant way – as with all sugar highs.
The results are supposed to be in the range of 65 to 140 – the upper numbers indicating a possible problem with dealing with the sugar quantity and I guess maybe being some kind of indicator of gestational diabetes. My result was 60.5. Which I take to mean that my body is so accustomed to absorbing phenomenal amounts of sugar that it hardly even registered the fact that I’d just swallowed a huge handful of the good stuff. Regardless of my interpretation, the fact is that 60.5 is a fine result and shows that there’s no glucose problem, and I don’t have to worry about it.
In general, my pregnancy posts are complaining rants or general moans, and since they don’t really reflect what’s happening with me, I think I’m ready to say things a little bit differently.
Recently we went to a play, and I was definitely one of the more under-dressed women there. But as I stood at the public bathroom sink washing my hands, I watched all the other women primping and rearranging, and I started to realise how little it mattered that I was only in jeans and a t-shirt.
Even with their shiny outfits and pretty handbags and cute shoes and ‘done’ hair and generously-applied make-up, they just looked like they were making the best of their aging, failing bodies, while I feel like my body is just improving, and is giving me a reason to be proud. This has been the first time in my life that I have been able to look at the women around me and feel equal, or in some cases more than that. Never in my twenties – and certainly not before that, either – did I ever feel that I measured up to other women, but suddenly, in this year, in this pregnancy, I feel that I do.
One the one hand I’m embarrassed at how arrogant this sounds, but on the other hand, I don’t keep a diary and if I want to remember how this felt, I feel like I have to record it somewhere, and I’m making this my somewhere.
Maybe this is just a case of pre-fall pride and I’ll end up suffering crippling post-natal depression when the baby is out, reality hits, and I don’t feel special anymore; but in the meantime, I’m just trying to enjoy what I have – the inevitable feelings that I’ll have of being an inadequate wife and mother can surely wait.
It’s not just an internally-produced thing, the new confidence, so I won’t take full responsibility for the feeling. Other people have been full of compliments about how well I’m carrying, how well I’m looking, how perfectly rounded I am, how well I’m moving … the constant support and encouragement and attention and affection of my consistently wonderful Mr is also a major factor in my current contentment, too. Basically as I get over the continuing comments about how small I look, I’m just taking it all as one big affirmation of how nicely everything is going.
And although those smallness comments are still coming, the fact is that I look like I have a soccer ball discreetly embedded in my body, and even if that’s not immediately obvious to the population in general, I know that it’s there.
In fact, with my increasing size, tasks like waxing my legs and painting my toe-nails are becoming increasingly difficult, as I try to navigate around my belly. I can still manage, though, with sufficient time, care, and sideways bends.
In terms of other symptoms, I’m still getting the occasional attack of heartburn – always self-induced. I’m not entirely sure what I did yesterday to deserve it, but I’m guessing it was the pastry that I had for breakfast. The heartburn is only about twice a week these days; when I manage to totally resist all fluffy breads I go to bed with no discomfort whatsoever. I do still resent the fact that a pastry or piece of bread eaten at 9am will come back to haunt me as late as 11pm, but I guess I just have to accept that reality. Yesterday I also had slightly achy limbs, like the achy knees I sometimes get when I’m really exhausted but can’t sleep. Then again, it had been a very long day and I probably hadn’t been drinking enough throughout the entire four-day weekend, so I wasn’t all that surprised at being uncomfortable.
The baby’s movements are my constant companion, and while I don’t notice the movements disturbing my sleep, sometimes I do get kicks so strong against my ribs that I have to sit up straighter to feel like I’m providing enough room in there … I hope that my limited height and short-waisted figure aren’t going to stunt its growth and curse it to a life of shortness.