Friday was a huge day in the exciting, glamorous life of Amalah.
For starters, I finally got my car's stupid safety inspection renewed. It only took me two months! And $200 in tickets! Which, I KNOW, Parking Enforcement Lady. I KNOW. I'm aware that my inspection expired and you can slap $50 tickets on my windshield EVERY DAY and it WILL NOT MATTER, because I KNOW, but I don't have time.
Also because I am chicken and will not drive to D.C.'s ONE LONE INSPECTION STATION by myself, because the neighborhood scares me. It's a very COPS kind of neighborhood, and our friends who had an apartment nearby finally moved because, you know, how much arson can you take before all the fire alarms and middle-of-the-night evacuations start really fucking with your sleep cycles?
So I made Jason drive me, and he kept trying to explain the route he was taking to get there and how not to get lost because you know, the next time I'll totally be going by myself, because Jason still doesn't fully understand that he married a total child who will NEVER DRIVE TO THAT SCARY PLACE BY HERSELF, EVER.
So we got the car inspected, and they gave us a new sticker and did not demand payment on our 700 outstanding parking tickets, which was awesome of them. One of these days I'll pay them. Or else one of these days I'll find my car booted and I'll cry and make Jason call the phone number and take care of it and then he'll probably divorce me.
Anyway. After the inspection we went to a prenatal checkup, and it was time for my glucose screening. Which I was expecting to suck in a completely different way than it actually sucked.
I figured the sugar-water-glucose-solution I'd have to drink would be nasty, but actually, I thought it tasted just like that McDonald's orange drink stuff your elementary school used to get for picnics and field day. Which come to think of it, most people WOULD consider that stuff to be nasty, but since pregnancy already makes me crave kid-centric foods (pudding! Spaghettios! Kraft Mac & Cheese! bananas with peanut butter!), I thought it was yummy.
I also figured I'd be pretty bored (you have to wait an hour after drinking the sugary stuff before your blood is drawn), so I came all prepared and brought a book. Except that I passed out cold about 10 minutes later.
Amy's Blood Sugar: Mmmm, glucose! Yum yum yum. AND YUM! AND WHEE! AND I'M HYPER AND EXCITED. LET'S DISCO DANCE! BUZZZZZZZZZ! WHEE! And...wait...oh. My. God. I'm crashing...crashingrightnowsohardandtiredandIwilljustclosemyeyesand zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Jason woke me up when it was time for the blood test and I kind of stumbled to the exam room. The nurse was freaking out about my purse and I just nodded and mumbled something about my head hurting. (By the way, I felt like shit on toast ALL DAY after the glucose screen. Had a pounding headache and I couldn't stay awake and I also whined a lot.)
I was so sleepy that when I was asked if I wanted an ultrasound I just shrugged and said, "Whatever."
(Yes, I know. I almost turned down an ultrasound. Clearly, that glucose solution is a more mind-altering hippie trip than LSD.)
Luckily, a small part of my brain (also known as "Jason") snapped to attention and said that yes, we would like an ultrasound.
And hey, anybody remember all the bullshit I went through with my doctor regarding the 20-week ultrasound? Where he wanted to wait until 26 weeks because of "picture quality?" And I was all, "WTF?" And then I was all, "He's evil and calculating and I'm going to destroy him?" And then I went for the ultrasound someplace else and got the most amazing, high-quality pictures and was all, "WTF, again?"
So I think I solved the mystery. My doctor's ultrasound machine is an ancient piece of shit.
(And also, I finally figured out that my doctor looks and talks and everythings JUST LIKE Corky St. Clair from Waiting for Guffman, complete with the references to a wife who probably doesn't really exist, because DUDE, YOU'RE GAY.)
I've had one sonogram in his office, but it was at 11 weeks and was via the cooch cam. Friday's peek at the Squishy was via the tummy cam, and the picture quality really and truly did suck.
I'm not even going to scan the photo, because it looks like an ultrasound done entirely in Microsoft Paint. There's a head and maybe an eye socket and some kind of hand-like blob and the only really obvious thing is my very full bladder which is getting smushed by Squishy's blurry head.
However, we did learn some important things:
1) Squishy is indeed a boy. Very much so a boy, no question there, thank you Mr. Very Prominent Scrotum.
2) Squishy is huge.
3) No, really. He's gigantic. He's measuring (in length) over a week ahead of schedule, and his estimated weight is about two weeks ahead of schedule.
4) His feet are 5.5 centimeters long and are oh, so cute.
5) Squishy is in the wrong position and needs very much to roll the heck over.
Squishy is in the "occiput posterior position." Which means he's facing up, towards my stomach, instead of down, towards my back. And that means labor can be longer and extra-super-painful. Also: Forceps. Gack. But hey, he still has plenty of time to move into a better position, so try not to think about it!
TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT? THIS IS YOUR SOLUTION?
Telling a pregnant woman to "try not to think about <insert something>" is a surefire way to ensure that her every waking thought will be consumed by <insert something>. WE CAN'T HELP IT.
I asked if there was any way to know if he rolls over between now and my due date, and Dr. Corky said, "Well, if labor starts and you feel your contractions in your front, and they feel relatively okay, we'll know he flipped over. If your contractions are in your lower back and hurt like a motherfucker, then we know he didn't."
(He probably didn't really say motherfucker.)
I HAVE A BETTER IDEA. HOW ABOUT GIVING ME AN EPIDURAL RIGHT NOW?
So here I am today, Monday, still not thinking about it, except for every time the baby moves or twitches or kicks. (Is he rolling over? Did he just roll over? Is that his head? Or his butt? Dammit.)
Am also waiting to find out if I passed the glucose screen, something I really WAS able to totally not think about -- until I was told how big the baby is. And now I'm convinced it's because I have gestational diabetes and won't be able to eat pudding or donuts for three more months and will still end up giving birth to a 10 pound baby who will come out sideways, or something.
I'm going to eat lunch at Krispy Kreme. That should take my mind off <insert something>.