I had a quick doctor’s appointment today, where I was declared one of the practice’s “healthiest patients” even if I am a fat fat fatty. 5 more pounds in the last month, although the doctor actually said “Wait, is this right?” when she saw my numbers. I wanted to explain that I totally just weigh more than most people and as long as my size 10 maternity jeans still fit I DO NOT CARE if your scale says 200 lbs on it. THAT’S RIGHT PEOPLE. 200 pounds. And every pound of me and my baby has excellent blood pressure, no indications of gestational diabetes, and measures right on track for 25 weeks.

In three weeks I take my glucose level test – I’ve heard really bad things about the crap they make you drink so I’m not looking forward to it – a bunch of STD tests and another Rhogam shot to prepare me in case I go into labor. And then it’s appointments every 2 weeks until I pop this thing out. I suppose I can no longer avoid the fact that it’s gonna happen, and science probably won’t figure out that totally pain-free teleportation delivery before then.

Advertisements