So apparently I have freakish taste buds that relish ultra-sweet substances because that syrupy glucose test I had to drink? The one that all pregnant women talk about with a wrinkled brow and a tone of utter disgust?
IT WAS DELICIOUS!
If it came in a six-pack at a grocery store, I would totally buy it. It tasted like a bubbly liquid popsicle. Red popsicle. The best popsicle.
The downside is that my veins, as usual, did not cooperate for the blood-taking portion. It's almost as if they try to hide as deep beneath my flesh as possible. I left an hour later with three gauze pads taped to pressure points at both my inner elbows and the top of my left hand and numerous apologies from one very sympathetic technician who laughed in agreement when I said I'd make a lousy drug addict.
But even if the drink had been as horrendous as everyone made it out to be, we got to hear our baby's heartbeat again. And those 160 beats per minute still sound like rhythmic music.
Even better than that? Better than the fantastic sugar high and the baby beat? My doctor said I am ALLOWED TO PAINT OUTSIDE!
So break out the paintbrushes, it's time to celebrate!