The Dreaded Glucose Test

So yesterday I had another doctor's appointment. Two weeks ago was my glucose test which I had worried and worried about for 7 months. Everyone I talked with failed. And everyone said how horrible the second test was. I do not drink questionable liquids well to begin with and the thought of giving blood every 20 minutes or whatever the second test is was scary to me. Mamma went with me to the last doctor's visit because Jeff had been at the airport for two days and needed to be back at his desk working. I knew I needed the moral support. My grandma told me to take a straw and that would help get it down quicker. So I thought I was being oh so clever and brought not only a straw, but a cup of ice to ice down the red drink with. I thought if it's colder, it won't taste so icky. That was apparently a mistake. Let me first say one of the girls who draws blood at the lab is kind, gentle, and is very good at distracting me so I do not see the blood or even think about it while she works. She engages me in conversation about the baby or something else to draw my mind away from the fact that I am letting perfectly good blood that my body made (if I didn't need it, why did my body make it??) flow out of me. Then there is another girl. We shall call her the Blood Nazi. She is NOT as gentle and she is NOT nearly as kind or understanding of the fact that not everyone wants to watch her work or even talk about it. The "good" blood girl was not there when I went in to get my bottle of gag juice. Before I was given the bottle, they asked what was in my cup. I said ice and before I could explain myself, she said, "You cannot drink that nor can you pour our drink over the ice." I was allowed the straw. And five minutes. Five minutes to down something that looked like a bottle of red punch. I was not a fan. So I bravely stuck my straw in and started to drink. Not horrible. Not chocolate milk or anything like that, but doable. Until I got about 3 sucks of the straw into it. It was like Hawaiian Punch but with a bigger punch. It was almost sharp if that makes any sense. Sharp Hawaiian Punch. We're going to go with that description. I am running low on time and so Mom starts chanting at me to finish and that I can do it and I think I should probably get this down before she breaks out in a cheer. My mom rocks. No one else could have made me finish that drink. She's the BEST! So fast forward to it's been exactly one hour - the blood Nazi was VERY clear that I must be back in ONE HOUR or I would have to do the test over. I was back in 53 minutes because she made me wait 7 minutes. They take this test very seriously I guess. So as I approach the desk, we see the girl I like! Mom starts praying that I get her instead of the other girl. There is someone else who is taking the same test as I am and we are waiting to see whose time is up first...and I get the good one!! She takes what she needs from me and I'm done. Unless I fail.
My friend Rachel called me a few days ago to ask if I had gotten my results yet. She was one of the unfortunate ones who failed her test and had tried to prepare me for the horrors of the second test. I told her that if I failed, they needed to call me - no way was I calling them to get bad news.
So yesterday, Jeff and I go again to see the doctor. I lost one pound, Emma is head down right where she needs to be, and Dr Irwin pointed out where her head is, her back is, and where her little bottom is. Note to potential dads out there. If you find out where your baby's bottom is do not attempt to "spank" her in utero. This does nothing to the baby but may potentially irritate your wife no matter how lightly you tap her tummy. I'm just saying.
And the best news of the day? I PASSED MY GLUCOSE TEST!!!