I’m just returning to the land of the living after spending 15 hours or so in a twilight haze of feverishness and Robitussin (which helps slightly more than nothing, but lots less than NyQuil or Jager). My co-workers all had this funk last week that included chills, fever, cough, exhaustion, and general congestions, and I foolishly opined that my regiment of prenatal vitamins had boosted my immune system to such a level that I was impervious to their germ attacks. Not so, apparently.
What I know about yesterday includes: I slept, but not straight through. I talked (ok, whined) to my mom and husband on the phone at some point, evidence in the form of a crusty bowl by the couch suggests I ate some oatmeal, and I must have let the dog out a few times, because he didn’t destroy anything or wee on the floor in that time.
Also yesterday, and before the sickness, I’d been at the doctor’s office for the dreaded Glucose test, which screens for gestational diabeetus (Wilfred Brimley voice). It entails the ingestion of a syrupy Sunkist-esque drink, then an hour’s wait, then a blood sugar test. I am proud to say (although I had nothing whatsoever to do with it) that I am ‘beetus-free.
I also went through the routine checkups, and I can report that Pookie is a little more than 2 pounds (I have gained 10 total since September) and she’s having a really fabulous time kicking the hell out of my internal organs (my bladder, specifically).