Twenty-eight weeks into my pregnancy with Evelyn, I found out I had Gestational Diabetes. My initial test had come back high, so I went back in for the dreaded 3-hour glucose test. I remember crying when they gave me the results — partly because it wasn’t the normal pregnancy I had planned, partly because I had no idea what to expect, but mostly because we were on our way to Door County that evening for our “babymoon” and I realized I probably wouldn’t be able to eat the cherry-stuffed French toast I had planned for breakfast.

I think back to that pregnancy and remember that day being one of its real low points.

Fast forward to pregnancy #3 —  I’m here again for that same 3 hour test — and I think today will go down as one of the absolute highs of this pregnancy.

And here’s why.

This morning I drove myself to the hospital. Alone. The back seat was quiet. I answered 0 questions.

Next I parked and got out of the car. Alone! With no stroller to unfold and no seatbelts to unbuckle except my own. On my way into the building, I answered 0 questions.

When I checked in, they had some trouble getting my veins to cooperate for the IV so they wrapped hot towels around both arms. HOT. TOWELS. It was so relaxing I almost didn’t notice the needles. Also I answered 0 questions about the needles, towels or other surroundings.

Next they showed me into the room where I’m to wait between blood draws. My current position is:


Those are my feet. They’re UP. In a recliner that I’ve actually been asked to stay in. On my lap is a warm blanket that no one is tugging off of me. And I’ve had to swat 0 hands away from that tempting red light switch.

Up here is a TV


It’s a TV, and there is no Daniel Tiger or Curious George on it. And I have answered 0 questions about the dozens of things on the walls. I have asked no one to stop trying to turn on that faucet. I have pulled no one away repeatedly from that Biohazard bin. I haven’t had to blow up a single one of those surgical gloves as makeshift balloon entertainment.

There are PEOPLE magazines. Lots of them. And I have three hours to read them at my leisure. If I can stay awake.


Amazing what 3 years of life changes will do to make what was a devastating day (if I’m being dramatic) the first time around feel like a day at the spa now. Honestly, I may not need that prenatal massage I’ve been wanting. Unless Eric is reading this and looking for anniversary gift ideas. In that case I absolutely need one.

So I’m off to enjoy my 3 question-free hours, because once I come home with that finger prick test, there are going to be lots of them.