The 4-1-1

We went to the doctor's office yesterday for my 24-week checkup. I'm doing great so far. BP (110/60), weight (ha! like I'd really tell you that), urinalysis, fundal height and fetal heartbeat all check out perfect.

Except for one thing. My uterus is measuring "big," as Dr. B put it. Just then C. started laughing. Need I remind you he was an almost-11-pound baby when he was born? When Dr. B and I both gave him daggers out of our eyes, he told her why he was laughing. My OB said my fundus measurement was 3-4 centimeters bigger (and that seems awfully big!), but it wasn't alarming enough to change my due date to any time sooner. She also said the baby's weight goes more by what Mom was when she was born (that'd be me at 6 pounds and a half-ounce), but of course Dad has something to do with it, too. Pooh.

At any rate, my next appointment is in four weeks (Aug. 14). That is when the fun begins. I have to do my glucose blood test to check for gestational diabetes. (So far, no sugar or protein in my urine.) I've been hearing from other ladies this sugary drink they make you choke down is absolutely no fun. Then you have to sit and let it do it's magic for an hour before your blood is drawn.

All of this brings back a memory from when I was 8 years old, in the hospital for an appendix-related malady (but I didn't have an appendectomy), and I had to drink this "grape juice", as the nurses tried to sell it to me. First off, it was this nasty purple dye crap that tasted worse than moldy liquid cardboard/carpet. As soon as it hit my esophagus, I started spitting it all back at those clever nurses, a la Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I can't remember how they actually got me to drink that poison (I probably blocked out that memory for good reason).