Though I am normally a soda pop lover, wait, that’s too loose of a term…
Soda pop enthusiast?
Alright, alright, fanatic.
Ok, I said it. Does that make you happy? That I am admitting to being a fanatic about something? Sheesh. But I have, shall we say, toned down the soda consumption since finding out I’m pregnant, because everyone knows that if I drink soda pop while pregnant my kid will be born with like, 4 arms (though that would be convenient as a mom) and 6 eyes or something.
Ahem. So I love soda pop. I love the bubbles, the sweetness, the flavors, and the bubbles. Did I say I love the bubbles? Because that’s my favorite part. Oh, and sometimes the fact that some soda pop has caffeine in it is a plus too. But it’s mostly about the bubbles. Great, now I feel like that freak fish from Nemo, “BUBBLES! OH, I love the bubbles, the bubbles I love! MY. BUBBLES.”
And I am rambling on because…
Right…liking soda pop. That’s where this all started. Well, actually, it started in the doctor’s office when he told me I have to go get my blood glucose test done. Sitting on that squishy chair covered with scrunchy paper and looking at that doctor, I had a sudden flashback to the last BGL test I had done while pregnant with Mr. B…
*Sitting in those tiny chairs and fasting, fasting for cryin’ out loud, my name gets called and a lady behind the counter hands me a small (maybe 8 ounces or so) soda pop can. “SA-WEET!” I’m thinking, because I haven’t had the stuff since I found out I was pregnant with this little Bean. I pop it open, take sniff and realize it’s orange. ORANGE! I seriously hate orange flavored stuff, except really, really cold Sunkist soda pop, and what I am holding in my hand seems to be a lukewarm, un-Sunkisty type drink. “Oh, well” I think. It can’t be THAT bad. So I take a drink. I mean I take a pretty good sized gulp because, hello? I haven’t had any in like six months, remember? And I swallow. AND I GAG. If you can think of anything that is the furthest thing possible from what an ice cold Sunkist soda pop would taste like, then this was it! I grimace and give the can back to the nice lady. She tells me I have to drink it all. WHAT? Drink it all? Like today? What do you mean right now? This whole can? And I look at it, and I look at her, and I do it, because it’s not just about me, it’s about my unborn Bean kicking away at my bladder and squigglin’ around underneath my ribs. It’s for him, so I tip the can back and chug it all, right there. It very nearly burns my throat with it’s flat, warm, syrupy, yuckiness. How’s that for heroism, eh? Then I sit and wait for the first 30 minutes to pass so she can take my blood. When she calls me back, she acts like I’m gonna pass out or something. Like I’m fragile. It’s really sweet, but I tell her that I don’t mind getting poked with a needle and I need to look at it when it’s going in so I don’t jump. Her eyebrows shoot up and she says, “You made all that fuss about drinking 8 ounces of syrup and you aren’t a bit worried about me stabbing you 4 times with needle?”.
“Um, nope. I’m good.” I reply.*
Because compared to drinking that junk, I’ll take whatever you wanna dish out. Bring it.
I went to the hospital this morning to take the test. I signed in, sat down, waited 30 minutes to get checked in, went down to the lab and she sent me home. Why? Because I had gum in my mouth. Even though it was sugarless. Sheesh. So I get to go back tomorrow, yay!