Pumping and Jumping

I did it. I fasted from midnight last night until 11:30 this morning. I drank another vial of the vile glucose testing drink and they took my blood 4 times this morning. More importantly, I kept my cool, chilled with Jeff and read the latest issue of People Magazine. It wasn't so bad. My test results come back on Monday so I will be prepared for any outcome. I've gone totally zen and have decided that whatever will be will be. If I get put on some strict diet, then good. I have always liked a challenge. If I am fine, then even better, because I have a pretty abiding fondness for chocolate. The point is: the baby is doing great and I am feeling spry and springy.

The best part of our 3-hour doctor's visit was when they hooked me up to the fetal monitor so that we could test the heartbeat and check the baby's movements. I had mentioned that I was feeling afraid about my perception (and, that of course is the key) that the baby's kicks and wriggles were not as strong as they used to be. More specifically, she jabbed the shit out of me Tuesday morning at 5:30 a.m. and woke me up and that hasn't happened since. I got the usual ob-gyny BS speech about how "every baby is different" and "her movements may vary from day to day," but then they said they would put me on the fetal monitor for reassurance. Hello? Do my hysterical messages to the office NOT indicate I could use a dose of reassurance.

We started with the handheld doppler, which indicated that Pepps' ticker was working just find to maintain 150 beats per minute. Then, we went down the hall and they put two little saucers on my stomach and strapped me down. They also handed me a switch that I had to push each time I felt baby movement. The ideal is to get to 10 movements in at least 2 hours.

Well, I grabbed my little switch and Jeff and I watched those little saucers dance around on my belly for about 20 minutes. In that time, Ms. Pepps (a/k/a pre-natal Mary Lou Retton) moved approximatley 68 times. When the nurse practioner came in and saw the read-out that indicated that the baby was going NUTS, she actually bopped me on the head with her pen to express her disapproval about my worrying for nothing. Bop away, Bitch, it's my baby and if I need to see a print out, then that's my right as a terrified, attached, first-time mom. Jeff thought she was pretty shaming, but I don't care one bit. As long as they harness technology to give me whatever reassurance is medically available, then if it comes with a side of shame, I literally do not care one bit. I did think they were going to have to perform CPR on Jeff who was laughing so hard at me when he realized that the nurse would come in and see that Pepps had jumped almost 75 times.

In my defense, I had fasted and all Pepps had to snack on was freaking GLUCOSE drink so that might have played into the whole "dance around the womb" routine. That or she's paying very close attention when Mommy accidentally watches 4 hours of Dancing With the Stars in 2 days.

Who cares? My baby is alive and well and she's growing and kicking. Monday I'll have more information about my potential diabetes diagnosis, so until then, it's a cake walk. Perhaps literally.