Pass Me the Splenda.

It's been a busy few weeks. I have had some major issues adjusting to this stupid new diabetic-friendly diet (Does everything have to be carb?!) and my husband is on the other side of the world for over two weeks (Who takes a 16-day vacation?) And to top it all off, he had to be gone for his birthday, my birthday, Father's Day and the 4th of July. So here I am, trying not to go crazy with a big belly and a psychotic toddler.

It gets worse. I took Kamryn to the pool yesterday and I only put sunscreen on him. Looking at my now blistering red shoulders, I'd say that was a pretty stupid move. It took me all morning to find the aloe vera. And then there are the endless finger sticks and insulin injections, which only seem to keep my blood sugar in check every once in a while. Oh, and I'm sick of Coke Zero.

I'm trying my best to hold it together. It's only sorta working at this point.

I hope the Shaolin training he's getting in China (what the hell does he think he's going to be, a ninja?) prepares him for the ass whooping he's going to get when he gets back.

Blood Troubles.

I got a phone call this morning from my doctor's office about the results from Wednesday's tests, and it isn't so good. I was expecting everything to come back normal, because it usually does. This time, it didn't. The nurse told me that my CBC test came back low. This means that I have lower than normal hemogloblin levels, so they are putting me on some sort of medication for that immediately. From what I have Googled so far, this means that I'm anemic. Maybe that explains why I'm always so wiped out and dizzy.

Oh, but that's not all. The nurse went on to tell me that my glucose screen didn't go so well either. A normal 1-hour screen should be at about 135, and I had a 190. The nurse told me that I should be concerned about gestational diabetes at this point. So, now I have an appointment later on today at the hospital's diabetic couseling center to meet with a nurse and a nutritionist to try to help manage my blood sugar levels. What a mess.

I'll post more after my appointment today. Hopefully then I'll have a better idea of what the heck is going on with all of this.

Never Hire an Attractive Nanny...or OB/GYN.

The doctor's appointment went by fast yesterday. We finally met the new doctor that was added to the practice after Kamryn's arrival, and she looks just like that actress from Coyote Ugly and Cheaper by the Dozen, except the doctor looks like she has a really good tan. Just in case you don't have a crazy movie obsession like my husband and I, I've provided a visual aid of said actress, Piper Perabo.

This wasn't supposed to be a problem, until I pointed out the uncanny resemblance to my husband. He replied with this: "Yeah, I know. She's pretty hot. I'd do her. You know, if I WERE SINGLE and if she..." Okay, blah blah, whatever. I stopped listening at this point because a horrifying possibility had dawned on me at that moment.

What if SHE was the doctor on call when I delivered?

Oh No! Images of me in labor, all sweaty and contorted with pain while pushing a baby out of my nether regions flashed through my head. While my husband standing at my beside, is undressing the sexy doctor in his mind. What an FML moment.

Then, as I tried to burn that visual out of my brain forever, I realized that I have only a one-in-three chance of having that particular doctor during the delivery, and even if she is the one on call, I'm sure Matt will be way too distracted with the baby and the birth to even think twice about what kind of underwear the doctor is wearing underneath her white coat. Okay, moving on...

Anyways, I had my glucose screening lab drawn and the results should be back by Monday. I also found out that they aren't planning on checking my placenta until later on (around the 32nd week) because I haven't had any more bleeding. No one seems all that concerned about it, so I'm guessing everything is probably okay at this point. And now that I'm at 26 weeks, I have to start going to the doctor every two weeks. Yay! We're at the homestretch!

My Lovely Baby Bump

Here it is, my most recent belly photo, taken at 24 weeks.

copyright-suburban princess diaires

I also have a new post all set up for when we announce the baby's name, which will be revealed at a later time (Probably after his birth, so give it about 3 more months. I know we've been slacking on the name thing this time around, but we have a toddler who is very distracting.) There is also a doctor's appointment coming up this Wednesday, where hopefully we will get an update on the placenta issue. And I have my glucose screen that day. Looking forward to fasting before I have to chug a bottle of liquified orange sugar...and then I get my blood drawn. Believe me, it's not as fun as it sounds.

In other news, the nursery is pretty much completed. I have two remaining wall decorations that I can't figure out what to do with, but other than that, it's done. Check it out:

copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires

Now that the kids' rooms are done, I'm focusing on getting things together for the big trip to the hospital. I just ordered a new robe and some nursing bracelets online and I'm working on getting some cute and comfortable pajamas for after the delivery.

On a completely different note, we took Kamryn to the portrait studio today to have his 2-year photos taken. This was our second attempt. We overbooked ourselves last weekend and had to take him to his appointment without a nap. Needless to say, he wouldn't cooperate. We made sure he got a full nap in this time around, but it was still almost impossible to get him to sit still long enough for the photographer to get a decent shot. Getting him to smile AND sit still was a miracle. We ended up with a total of three good poses out of seven. That's right, in a 45 minute session Kamryn only had seven frames. Hopefully, he'll be able to sit still a little longer when we get our family portrait done in October.

I won't have his new pictures for another few weeks, so until then amuse yourselves with these snapshots of the lil' guy with a bucket on his head.

copyright-suburban princess diaires
copyright-suburban princess diaires

He is his father's son. That's for sure.

The Great Midget Debate.

One of my fellow blogger friends has challenged me to write about something non-pregnancy or kid related, so I thought it would be a good idea to finally address a long-held topic of controversy surrounding my height.

People accuse me of being a midget.

It started out funny, as a joke. Through the years, it has progressed into an evil label that dumps me into the same category as tiny porn stars (i.e. Bridget the Midget) and those munchkins from the Wizard of Oz.

I don't really find this amusing anymore. So, let's set the record straight once and for all.

copyright-suburban princess diaires

I am short. There is no debating that, for sure. At a towering 4'11", I am constantly mistaken for a teenager, attracting every pedophile within a thirty-mile radius and I can never reach anything on the top shelf at the grocery store. My car seat is pushed all the way into the steering wheel, and even then I can't reach the gas pedal in flats. I get carded trying to buy tickets for R-rated movies. I'm always the last to know when it's raining. As frustrating as all of this may be, the question still remains. Am I a midget? I needed to find out once and for all. I decided to do some research.

Turns out, the real question is whether or not I am a dwarf. I always thought that a dwarf was someone who was disproportionately short while midgets were proportional and tiny. That's wrong. According to The Little People of America, the term 'midget' dates back to 1865, during the height of the circus "freak show" era, and was applied only to short-statured persons who were displayed for public amusement. So, it seems that "midget" is really just another derogatory word for a person with dwarfism. On that same note, "dwarf" is actually considered offensive as well, which is why the politically correct label is now "little people".

So, am I a dwarf, or little person? It looks like the answer is no. Again, according to The Little People of America, as well as medical websites (i.e. The Mayo Clinic and WebMD), dwarfism is defined as a medical or genetic condition that usually results in an adult height of 4'10" or shorter. I managed to stay an entire inch above the cutoff.

It's time now for the name-calling to end. I am not a midget or dwarf or a little person. I'm just short. That's why I've never been thrown around in one of those midget-tossing contests at the bar.

And, no. Even if I were 4'10", I still wouldn't be able to obtain a handicap parking permit.
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