Today was not a very good day. It's a Wednesday, which means it's a fasting, blood-draw day for me. Plus, I'm now up to appointments every two weeks, so it was lab work plus a visit with the midwife. Seriously--whoever thought it was a good idea to routinely perform fasting tests on pregnant women a) is probably a man and b) needs to have his head examined.

This morning, I was running late. I had to boil an egg and stop at the supermarket to pick up an English muffin and a bottle of water so that I could eat breakfast after the blood draw. (They draw, I eat, and then they draw again 2 hours later to check my sugars.) I got to the doctor's office at about 8:40 or 8:45, checked in with the receptionist and let her know that I needed to have my glucose levels checked and that I had an appointment with one of the midwives at 9:00. Then I sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. Generally, I don't wait longer than about 5 minutes. But it was pushing 15. I figured the lab was busy, and I didn't see the phlebotomist who usually does my blood draws. At 9:00, the nurse comes out to get me for my appointment and I freak out on her.

"But, the lab hasn't called me yet. I'm gestational diabetic and they need to test my sugars. I can't eat until they test me and they haven't called me yet. I need them to take the draw so I can eat breakfast. I haven't eaten in 12 hours and I'm not allowed to eat until they..." You get the picture. I'm listening to this come out of my mouth and it's like I can't stop it. Nor can I control the volume or timbre of my voice which is getting louder and shriller and beginning to shake as I start to cry.

So they took my blood. Blew out one of my veins in the process (that'll leave a mark), but got the fasting draw. And then let me eat in the examination room. Where I proceeded to find out I'd lost 3 pounds in the past two weeks, had sugar in my urine (this hasn't happened before and didn't really make me happy as it could indicate that diet and exercise are no longer cutting it) and then had to try to explain to the midwife why I was teary that morning. Which, naturally, I couldn't do without crying more.

My morning's performance won me a recommendation for Fish Oil supplements, Vitamin D supplements, and a trip to the counselor to make sure my depression isn't relapsing. Oh, and I feel like a complete asshole due to my inappropriate behavior. I was also advised to perhaps take the day off from work and take a nap instead--which I did. I hate using the sick time at this point because I'd much rather use it during my maternity leave, but I think I really needed the sleep.

In spite of everything, the Tadpole keeps on doing her thing. I might be losing weight, but my belly is growing and is apparently measuring "right on." She's busy and likes to kick and wiggle for me, and be perfectly calm and serene for her Daddy. Let's hope this continues after she comes out. Daddy can deal with her at 2:00 AM.

Right now, I'm at 30 weeks. Her due date is January 17, 2009. However, we know that babies show up when they darn well feel like it. So I propose a little contest: