I'm Not Shelby

Today at 1:15 I got into my car, backed out of my driveway and steered my car towards my doctor's office. It felt very similar to a death march, walking the plank or having to decide to cut the blue or red wire on a bomb while innocent bystanders watch. Scorpios tend to be dramatic. I am Scorpio thus I am dramatic. I got out of my car, checked in and burrowed myself in a waiting room chair while cradling my Nook in my arm gingerly like a baby kitten. Time ticked by, and as it passed my mood became increasingly salty.

I came to the conclusion that I am always the most intelligent person in my doctor's waiting room. It sounds like a bold statement, but if you had to spend time in this waiting room you would realize that the dumb kid who sat in the back of your third grade classroom and bit his toe nails was still brighter than the crowd that this waiting room attracts. I had to endure listening to various ringtones about pole dancers, pimps and cops, even though the sign in the waiting room clearly states "TURN OFF YOUR PHONE IDIOT!" Additionally, I got to listen to several conversations with enough grammatical errors to choke an English teacher or even a Spanish teacher for that matter.

Finally, the gatekeeper of the doctor's office told me it was time to continue my march, which has grown increasingly humiliating as it becomes more difficult to leave the customary urine sample, but that is another story. I got my blood pressure taken, which was perfect. Hooray, my body does not suck at something. I only gained 1 pound in the last three weeks. Hooray again, I am on a roll! I entered my room and sat quietly and impatiently. I don't know why I was impatient. Does the criminal waiting on death row grow impatient?

My doctor came in and I erupted. I said, "Look, I don't know what pregnant diabetes means exactly. Am I going to be like Julia Roberts character on Steel Magnolias? Am I going to seizure while getting my hair done in a crappy salon, being force fed orange juice to keep myself alive? Or furthermore, will I need to teach Luke how to dial 911 in case I pass out cold due to some sort of sugar shock that will ultimately lead to my untimely death?" My doctor, clearly now realizing that I am a Scorpio, began to explain things to me about my "condition."

So here it the long and short. My body does not process sugar so great, and I need to monitor it. I have to get a glucose monitor and prick myself after eating to record my blood sugar. In two weeks, I will go back to the doctor's office and share my recordings. If my sugar is good, I get to quit playing the prick game or at least do it less. If not, then I am not sure what happens. Perhaps, I will get to wear a scarlet letter of some sort.

I use to say that people that were uber healthy were only asking for trouble. That is why with my last pregnancy I ate Big Macs with reckless abandon. I dreamed about breakfast burritos in the same manner that Ducky dreamed about Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. Did I become diabetic? Nope, but I did become something even more awful...FAT. So this time around I decided that I was not going to be the fat blimp, and now I am the diseased normal sized person. I am still not sure which alternative is worse.

Ultimately, I have some form of knocked up diabetes, but I am not Shelby. Some people are really good at being pregnant, like Michelle Duggar and her 40 kids or the Octomom. Pregnancy is their specialty. I am not good at pregnancy. I suck at it, and that is not just the Scorpio talking.