The Texture Of Things

Top Ten All Time Foods

September 25th, 2008

The following is a list of foods I want to eat after this pregnancy and its attending diabeetus are over. In no particular order.

* Peanut Buster Parfait from Dairy Queen; would also accept that one sundae from Ritters with pecans and caramel
* Sweet and Sour Chicken from our local Chinese food joint or the one from my home town; would also accept Sesame Chicken from our second favorite local Chinese joint
* Ground beef and cheese burritos (with sides of beans and cole slaw) from HG’s favorite Mexican restaurant, with salsa
* Hungry Hippies pizza (pepperoni, green pepper, and onion with butter crust) and Three Cheeser bread
* Sugar-full Lemonade; would also accept orange juice
* Hi-test Mocha with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles; would also accept other flavors but nothing sugar-free
* Onion Rings from our local hotel bar, with dipping sauce
* Wine
* Pie

Okay, let’s talk about these last three.
Wine: I have found that I can make a beefy spaghetti sauce that, in combination with whole wheat pasta, does not make my blood sugar soar. But! No garlic bread or Chianti. That just sucks. I mean, I just want one glass of wine. (Here’s me cry-babying about it: a-WAAH!)

Pie: Let me make this as clear as possible. I DON’T EVEN LIKE PIE. Some fruit pie, about once a year or every other year, is fine. I do prefer berries, but at this point, if someone offered me a slice of apple pie with the assurance I could eat the whole thing while my pancreas cooperated and my placenta looked the other way, OMFG, I’d even eat apple pie.

IHOP: For years, literally years, I have longed for an IHOP close to my home. Then? IHOP waited until I was pregnant and on the doorstep of teh pregnancy diabeetus before they opened one. Rat Bastards. So now, I’ve been salivating for months over the thought of going to IHOP as soon as I can travel out the house to eat one of everything off the menu, including pancakes, WHICH I DON’T EVEN LIKE. Waffles and French Toast, on the other hand, I love, and I am so totally going to eat those. Totally.

omg, i’m so hungry right now.

Edited to add:
*Bonus food – cider mill cider and spice donuts from ANY-FREAKIN-WHERE

Weight, Weight.

September 17th, 2008

The up side to seeing approximately one hundred different doctors during this pregnancy is that I know I’m well-watched. Being watched so carefully calms me because if something starts to go wrong, odds are good someone will catch it more quickly than if I were not required to check in, say, forty times a week. This is important to me since had it not been for a non-stress test gone bad, the tot could have easily been a stillborn. And it was coincidence that I was even there for the NST, having been told earlier by the specialists at the hospital to go home and enjoy some good old fashioned bedrest. It was a “what the hell?” moment when I decided to go ahead and do the NST, seeing as how I was there and already scheduled for it. I mean, I could go home and enjoy that bedrest just as well in about an hour, right? So why not?

Egad, man. Talk about luck.

The down side to seeing approximately one hundred different doctors is that none of them agree on anything. Heck, ask just one of them what they believe are the three highest priorities for an obese woman with gestational diabetes. Go on. Ask one. My primary OB told me the following at my 10-week check up:
*Keep your weight gain down to 10-15 pounds total
*Keep your blood sugars under control, starting by following a diabetic diet (but moving to insulin, if required)
*But, don’t diet or restrict your food intake because you have to feed the baby

Okay, let’s try again, Doc. How about two out of three? No? What do you mean, “No, all three are equally important”?

Sweet Jebus, have you seen how many calories a pregnant chick is supposed to eat? Even for an obese woman, the recommended diet is 2200 calories. 2200! Who eats that much?! But I’m not supposed to gain more than 15 pounds?


According to the Mayo Clinic, here is how the weight a woman gains during pregnancy breaks down:
* Baby: 7 to 8 pounds
* Larger breasts: 1 to 3 pounds
* Larger uterus: 2 pounds
* Placenta: 1 1/2 pounds
* Amniotic fluid: 2 pounds
* Increased blood volume: 3 to 4 pounds
* Increased fluid volume: 2 to 3 pounds
* Fat stores: 6 to 8 pounds

(For the record, mah bay-bee is on track to weigh about 7.5 pounds at birth.)

So, erase the fat stores – I’ve got that covered – and we’re talking about 18.5 to 23.5 pounds. If I’m only supposed to gain 10-15 pounds, but growing a baby requires roughly 20, I find myself a little confused about how the medical community defines “Don’t Diet While Pregnant.”

Big, dumb jerks.

So, when I met the dietitian, I asked her opinion: which 2 of 3 seemed the most important to her? She paused not at all and said, “Forget about the weight gain. Feed your body, feed the baby, worry about weight loss after the baby is here.” I decided right then that I love her, and I tossed all expectations of keeping my weight down out the window.

And this is the part you’ve been waiting for. So far, my net weight gain is 6 pounds. Six. I was up eight, but then I lost two pounds in two weeks.


For reference, when the tot was born at 34.5 weeks, I had gained 16 pounds but lost 5 in the few days right before she was born. Currently, I’m 37.5 weeks, and I’ve gained about what I normally pack on over a weekend when I’ve made Christmas cookies. (I get weighed again tomorrow, so we’ll see how my eating like a maniac this last week has affected my poundage.) What did I do? I ignored the doctor, listened to the dietitian, walked on my treadmill a bunch, and resolved to consider my weight at check up a non-issue, like the pee test for protein. It’s either bad or it isn’t, and I’m not worrying about it until red flags start flying up.

So far, so good.

Six pounds. Really? I know – I surprised myself too.


September 9th, 2008

I haven’t posted a lot about being pregnant (or about anything lately, really), and that’s been mostly out of being busy and in denial. Busy: I’ve been getting stuff ready, taking care of the tot, nesting, etc. Denial: I’ve been trying to focus on the tot in these last few months, weeks, days of being a three-person family and I’ve spent hardly any time navel gazing, which is about all I did the first go around. (Ask HG. He’ll tell you that my primary response to “What’d ya do today?” when I was pregnant with the tot was “Gestate. You?”) The denial has been easy, since the tot is a busy, active child with a schedule outside of this house and family. (Dance, preschool, OT. Oh, I need a nap just thinking about it all.)

Still, it’s hard. And I don’t really mean the heartburn, the diabetes, the not-being-able-to-pick-anything-up-off-the-floor, the ligament pain. Yeah, that sucks, but really, it’s harder to sit here and not wonder what exactly I’ve done to my happy little family of three. Hard to sit here and wonder how the next few months are going to play out and simply not know. Hard to sit here and not wonder about how I’ll manage or if I’ll somehow find a deeper level of energy inside my carcas to pull me through during the times when I don’t have help. (There will be help, right?) (Egad, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.)

But there’s not much time left for wondering or worrying, for better or for worse. My due date is October 5, but because of the diabeetus, the docs want me to deliver a week before that. I’ve known this all along, but now that it’s close, it feels weird. This Friday, I’ll go to my next doctor’s appointment and have to negotiate a day for the baby to be born. In no way does this feel normal. Perhaps this is just the point on the path where, although I’ve bought in to a medical model of birth (for me), I’m keeping one foot on the natural model’s path. Babies come when they come, don’t they? Why should I even expend the energy to construct an argument for when this baby should come? There is no logic that can carry that argument. But I will have to choose, or have the doctor choose for me, and that will be that.

I don’t know what my point is here. I guess I’m just saying that my bags are packed and I’m as ready as anyone ever can be. So if you ask me what I did today, my answer is the same as yesterday’s: just gestatin’.

Oh. Oh, that’s one more for the list.

August 24th, 2008

I have an unwritten list of the things that give me heartburn. Before I got pregnant with the tot, I never knew the privilege of being somewhere, doing something, and being suddenly overcome with a reflux burp that carried with it all the charm of door-to-door magazine solicitor. And, lucky me, that was a souvenir I got to keep after her birth, although reduced in its ferocity.


excuse me.

As I was saying, heartburn. Oh god, it’s worse this time. While I don’t remember all of my trigger foods from the time of the tot, I know that the foods that stayed on as major offenders after her birth included:
oatmeal (worse if paired with coffee)

Yes, bananas and toast.

Pardon me for phrasing it this way, but who the fuck gets heartburn from toast? It’s ridiculous.

Now, of course, the list is everything again, or almost everything. I think there must be a few things that don’t stoke the fires, but I’ll tell you that when I decided to treat myself this afternoon to something I haven’t had in years, I most certainly did NOT expect to be suffering some six hours later.

The culprit?

A Grape Faygo soda. Diet, of course. (Thanks, Diabeetus!)

On a “normal” day in the pregnancy-hood, I get by with the help of a Z@nt@c 150 in the morning and about 6-8 Extra Strength Tums across the course of the day. Today? I needed another 150 in the evening and I’ve eaten 10 ES Tums in 5 hours.

Screw you, Faygo. I never liked Grape anyway and the diet version sucked. (I’m more of a Red Pop or Rock & Rye girl, to be honest.)

NST!! A++++++!!!!1! Thanks!!!

August 20th, 2008

For a fan of the TV game show Jeopardy!, a non-stress test is about the best thing that can happen to a pregnant woman. I get to go in, sit in a recliner with my feet up, and click the Jeopardy! clicker every time the baby kicks. (Minor downsides include the cold gel used with the monitors the nurse straps to my belly, the crappy daytime television on the unreasonably quiet TV, and a general lack of scenery while I sit facing the back corner of the NST room.) Still, I feel all cool with my thumb poised over the button, ready to click every time I feel the baby move.

Of course, this attitude will be short-lived. This week was my first NST, and there will be many more to come – like, once or twice a week from here until (hopefully) the end of September. (Thanks, Diabeetus!) I predict it will take two or three more for me to get truly bored with the damned things, though I also predict I’ll start complaining after the next one (this coming Monday).

FWIW, Dos and I passed this week’s NST with flying colors within mere minutes, but I still had to sit there for another half an hour in order to generate enough heartbeat record for the doctors to feel like a $1000* test was worth ordering. (Major downsides include having to sit there for at least a half an hour with my thumb poised over the button, having to sit there much longer than a half an hour if the baby and I aren’t passing the test, and what will happen if we flunk one as majorly as the tot and I did the day she was born.) On departure, though, I was so pleased that I felt like I should be able to leave feedback for the experience somewhere. I guess that’s what blogs are for.

*I made this number up, based on my poor memory of my 2004 insurance bills. The test was either $750 a piece and I had two tests a week (totally $1500 per week) or it cost $1500 per test and I only went once per week. I honestly don’t remember, so I split the difference, more or less. Thank any and all applicable deities that our old insurance covered almost all or all of the cost of those tests, and let’s hope the current insurance follows suit.

Welcome to Pregnant Diabeetus 101.

August 19th, 2008

*category one language alert*

First, you should know that, of course, it is not your fault that you’ve been diagnosed with what is known by medical professionals as Gestational Diabetes (to be known here as Pregnant Diabeetus or, more simply, teh Diabeetus). Except for that part where it was your choice to stuff your maw with Mountain Dew and Twinkies for breakfast and then with fries and smarties for lunch for the last three years of high school. ‘Cuz, you might realize now, eating that way kind of stressed your pancreas and shit. And now you’re obese on top of that, and a fabulous candidate for teh Type 2 Diabeetus and for ordering your testing supplies with Wilford Brimley’s favorite company.

SFW, NSF People Who Pronounce It “Diabetes”

The first thing you should know is that the diet you’ll go on sucks. It sucks like any diet sucks, in that you have to rescind control over choosing what you get to eat and then you have to do that stupid self-mind-fuck where you tell yourself that you really ARE in control of what you’re eating and you’re actually choosing to eat what’s on the diet, ergo you are in fact in control. Guess what? You’re not, so quit trying to kid yourself. Srsly. On the other hand, it could be worse. It could require you to eat artichokes, tuna, and calorie-free italian dressing, like that cursed Curves diet does.

not on either diet

SFW, NSF People On The Diabeetus Diet

The second thing you should know is that yes, you do have to do the god-forsaken diet and you do have to exercise every fricking day because if you don’t, your OB will threaten you with having to go on insulin. S/he will hang it over your head unless your numbers are super-star glowy and shiny. So just suck it up and do the diet already. (And yes, if you’re wondering, it means not ever being able to indulge your pregnancy cravings – unless your craving is for a fresh salad or more water.)

mmmm, water

Beyond that, enjoy your pregnancy! It’s a miraculous time and it’s over far, far too quickly!

(Did I mention that you’re glowing? You’re glowing. What? That’s just sweat and overheating from the mile you just walked? Oh. You can hardly tell. Really.)

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