Spoiler Alert!
No, they’re not.
(That’s a kinda awkward shot, huh? I was trying to fit both of my bandaged arms in. Apologies to the squeamish. But can we just take a moment and appreciate HOW MUCH HAIR I HAVE?! Apparently it will all fall out the second I give birth.)
I was sort of nervous about yesterday’s glucose screening test, which checks you for gestational diabetes. This is what I knew about it going in: it involved a blood test, and some kind of soda, and would be ONE OF THE WORST THINGS ABOUT PREGNANCY. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Would full-on pints of fluid be forcibly removed from my veins? Were people leaving out the part about how the sugary drink would send you into fits of uncontrollable vomiting? Which part of this, exactly, was supposed to be so bad that everyone (everyone) goes “Oh, GODDDD, THATTTT. It’s the WORST.”
As it turns out…I continue to have no idea what anyone’s talking about with this one. You literally get a tiny bit of blood taken, drink about 8 ounces of something that tastes like flat Sunkist, page through Newsweek for an hour, and then get a tiny bit of blood taken again. And then, because you had to fast beforehand and are starving and pregnant, you get to reward yourself with a Belgian waffle. Woo!
I asked the nurse why everyone makes such a fuss about this test, and she rolled her eyes and said, “Because they’re extra.” And then she looked at me and said, “Honey, if you think drinking orange soda is something to get all in a bunch about, just wait until labor.”
