Mama Drama: Ripping Off the Band-Aid

"Buy yourself some cute Band-Aids."  That was what my sister said when I told her that I had gestational diabetes.  Well, she said a lot of other (very helpful!) things too, having gone through this horror herself.  But that was what, ahem, stuck with me when I finally decided to write this post.  

When I got my test results, I was terrified.  I had no idea how I was going to cut carbs and (gulp) prick myself four times a day.  The husband, as always, was (and is) amazing, patiently showing me how to use the glucose monitor and making me protein-rich meals.  The first time I stuck myself, I almost threw up.  Then another time shortly after I couldn't get the needle thingy to work (I'm not the most mechanical person), and the more the clock ticked, the more flustered I got.  Panicked, I thought, I can't do this.  And then, like a sign from the universe, it all clicked -- literally and figuratively.  The pen did its thing, and I took my reading.  And I knew that I could and would do this, for my health and for the health of my baby.

It's been a week and a half now, and I already feel like an old, ahem, hand.  I even went for other (pregnancy-related) bloodwork earlier this week and was completely fine.  Best of all, so far, my numbers have been great.  So, pizza-free or not, I feel incredibly lucky.  It's a comfort knowing that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. 

And that sometimes the only way to stop being a baby is to have one.