One potato, two potato, three potato, four

So now I wait.

Will I pass or fail today’s semi-brutal, 3-hour glucose tolerance test?

For anyone who sees me on a regular basis, you better hope it’s pass, because I just don’t know if I can take any more restrictions.

I know I signed up for this pregnancy, I’m not blaming anything on anyone but myself, but geez. You go into the process knowing full well you’re going to have to give up booze. You accept this fact, albeit begrudgingly, and wistfully envision that day, exactly 103 days in the future, when that meddlesome restriction is lifted. (And don’t be so shocked, of course I’ll have a beer in the hospital.)

You also know that hot tubs are off limits and that eating sushi is a risk you probably shouldn’t take.

But since my stint in the hospital I’ve got two new restrictions, two biggies: no exercise and no sex.

So here I am, pregnant, which is one long-ass, crazy, emotional roller coaster ride to begin with, and not able to engage in three of the most effective stress reducers that this life on earth provides: alcohol, sex, and exercise. At the same time, I’m still expected to complete all my routine, but sometimes stressful, day-to-day tasks, for example work fulltime and mind my children.

Okay, so that's the current gig, to which I'm trying to adapt, but if I fail today's test, guess what? I'll also have to give up my carbohydrates. Those fiddleheads look good and all, but c'mon, what is pregnancy without being able to eat pizza, and buttered toast, or a bowl of granola, or a fat plate of pasta? It's getting fat without compensatory culinary enjoyment, that's what it is.

And although I freely admit that I'm already cranky right now, I'm going to be downright bitchy if they take away my rice and potatoes, my apples and fruit juice.

In my Bitchy post I pose the question: "Can I be the bitchiest? Well, I don’t know. If I put my mind to it, I guess I could."

Belive me, if I fail this test, I won't even have to try.