So I have been missing a while. I have a valid excuse, I promise. I am pregnant and due in less than a month. Not that pregnancy is an excuse in and of itself, I am a modern woman who can do just about anything with a gestational tag-along. Anything except process simple sugars apparently. In the beginning of December I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and for the past two months I have been pretty obsessed with food. This pregnancy has been a little bit high maintenance to say the least.
I have always loved food, carbs in particular. Little did I know that carbohydrates would become the enemy and my obsession. When my doctor first called, they were pretty confident that they could tackle this with some simple changes in my diet. By simple changes, I mean a highly restrictive diet with a strict time table for eating. From the morning when I wake up to the time I go to bed I have to track everything that goes into my body. For the first few weeks I was a total nut-bag, it is amazing what carb withdrawal can do to you. (Especially when your drug of choice is a big fat cinnamon roll.) Over time though, I slowly learned what I could and could not eat and tracked my blood sugars four times a day. I tracked them steadily rise, diet be-damned.
I am a little type A when it comes to my personality. I truly believe there is nothing I can’t do if I put my mind to it. (My siblings think I was Napoleon in a past life, but I am sure that is because I am such an inspiring leader and not because I am bossy and domineering at all.) So when my body decided to completely revolt I was flabbergasted and frustrated. I couldn’t figure it out. The low-carb dieting didn’t work, a bevy of medications didn’t work and even insulin shots have been less than effective. To a type A person like myself this is tantamount to total failure.
I have wavered between absolutely guilty to incredibly frustrated touching on every emotion in between. Food has become my obsession and my enemy. The worst part of this has been the uncertainty, not knowing how this is affecting my little bundle that I am over-sugaring in my oven. I stressed on the size of the baby, the stress on his body (yes it is a little boy) and the constant warnings from nurses and doctors alike. Its a pretty crappy feeling to think that you are already messing up your kid before he even leaves your body.
I started to withdraw from life, taking daily naps for hours at a time and using the television to entertain my four year old. I was snappy with my husband and rarely wanted to leave the house. Let’s face it, I was depressed. Then I went in for another ultrasound, to check on the status of my son. I learned two things that day, one I have HUGE babies. He is already pushing eight pounds with a month to go. Two, and by far more importantly, I learned that I am human… and I have limits.
The ultrasound tech may have helped with this epiphany, she was kind and compassionate and most of all she made me smile. She showed me a picture of my little boy and for the first time I didn’t just see a little blob looking back at me. (I admit I can never really read those pictures. I could never do the magic eye things at the mall either.) For the first time I saw my son, and I realized why I was doing all of this. I understood that the best I can do is ALL I can do, and so far he is doing okay.
It also reminded me that I am incredibly lucky to be able to have a child, no matter how difficult this process has been. I am very lucky to already have a smart, funny and very loving daughter, who is both excited and apprehensive about having a new addition to the family. I have a husband who has been supportive and sweet during the process (most of the time) and who has done his best to balance out my insanity. I have friends and family who will love and support me no matter how nutso I get too.
I guess, I finally realized that I have it pretty good. It is time to pull myself out of my pity party and take a good look at how lucky I really am. Now I will just have to remind myself of this when I am working on no sleep with a new born and a demanding five year old… although I wouldn’t have it any other way.
a life just ordinary 