Funny Pathetic Every Which Way

I might have gestational diabetes. The result of my 1-hour glucose tolerance test was high (165, for those to whom the number means something), and I have my 3-hour test next Tuesday. Now I'm trying to eat only low-glycemic-index foods. Yesterday I got discouraged and disgusted mid-afternoon and ate a big wad of fudge.

My orientation period at work has been lengthened, so despite the fact that this will be Week 14, I'm still not flying solo. It is not considered safe for me to do so. I find this reasonably mortifying. I don't know what to say when friendly fellow-nurses ask me "so, are you on your own now? what week is this for you?"

As of my last exam, the fetus had not turned head-down. The midwife described the position as sort of half-transverse, half-footling-breech. She said 30 weeks was earlier than she usually mentioned it, but since the kid is now considered officially Large for Gestational Age, maybe I should start doing exercises to try and turn it so it doesn't get stuck there, with its head tucked neatly under my liver.

My due date is March 6. I look as if my due date were at least two weeks ago.

I seem to be on an every-other-shift schedule for crying at work. I feel so discouraged. I can't tell whether I really suck or have hypercritical preceptors. Or both. At least I have good moments with the patients themselves; otherwise, I don't know what I'd do.

I can't decide whether or not to buy another pair of maternity scrub pants. The ones that actually fit and have a pocket (thank you very much--I guess I kind of, sort of understand why normal maternity pants never have pockets, though I think it's basically lame, but how can it be forgivable to make scrub pants without pockets?!) are made-to-order and therefore on the expensive side. And I really don't plan to be pregnant ever again. And I just have to get through two more months, if that. And I do have three pairs. But it's a pain to do laundry all the time. And the navy ones are too short and have no pocket. The funny pathetic part? I think about this issue continually. All the time. I have still not decided. It is still not resolved.

I've been contracting a lot. Sometimes it's pretty uncomfortable. Occasionally it comes with pelvic and rectal pressure, which I take as really Not Good. My midwives yell at me to drink more water. I try, I do. But I'm not thirsty. Two liters a day is minimum, they say. I try, I try. Sometimes I get to two liters. Almost never more. I could go into preterm labor, and there'd be only myself to blame.

Our apartment is a hell hole disaster area pit of chaos. At least I changed the cat box yesterday. Which of course I'm not supposed to do. Because of toxoplasmosis. But I wear rubber dish gloves and a bandana over my face. Because it's my cat. My cat who will never die, who will just live forever with her oozing sore, being disgusting and kvetchy. At least she killed 3 mice lately.

Um, yeah. We have mice. They come in from the basement. The landlord keeps saying he's going to fix that window.

I can't find my ATM card.

Intermittently for no good reason, I get all short of breath and miserable. Plus my hips hurt. I am so sick of third trimester I could scream.

I spent time today packing up Christmas presents to send out on Monday. Yes, I do know that today is January 7. It's not even within the 12 Days of Christmas anymore. The drummers drumming left yesterday, pipers piping hot on their heels, nearly drowning out the squeak-squeak of the cart carrying the partridge's pear tree as it bumped over potholes, trailing dejectedly behind.

Basically basically basically I am Not Good Enough in any direction I look, and even if you think oh, well, pregnant and starting as a hospital nurse, that's a lot to take on, even that is my fault because I decided to take it on. I held my head high and said pfft, I'll be okay. I thought I could do it. My mom on the phone yesterday said yes, well, but you are doing it. And I cried and cried.