Hey there. How are you? Bet you can breathe. That must be nice. I wish I could breathe. But I can’t. My only hope is that this cold is the culprit, because I can reasonably expect that to be gone sometime next week, whereas if it is the baby compromising my lungs she’s going to be hanging out inside, pushing around my innards for, I’m pretty sure, FOREVER.
So if you don’t feel like passing out from lack of oxygen, you should take a moment to be grateful.
Speaking of the giant baby inside me . . . last week I finally had to get my head out of the sand about my weight gain. It wasn’t so much the weight gain, as the increasing velocity of the weight gain. And then, after a week of gaining a half a pound PER DAY, I had to have a stern talk with myself. The return of my appetite around week 27 was so miraculous that I gave myself free rein to eat whatever I wanted. But given my history of gestational diabetes, I eventually had admit that it might be worth controlling what I ate. So even though I passed my gestational diabetes screening this time around, last weekend I put myself back on the gestational diabetes diet. I’ve lost two and a half pounds this week. I understand that dieting while pregnant is a delicate thing, but I figure if this was doctor-prescribed the last time around, it should fine. Plus, the rapid weight gain didn’t seem like such a good idea, either.
Plus, I think I’ve got a little extra padding to cushion any nutrition errors.
Plus, I work down the hall from a research group that’s been following the health and development of crack babies for the past 20 years and you know what? It turns out that they are basically fine. It seems to me that if crack babies are doing okay, then a fetus is actually pretty resilient. And I’m not even doing crack.