Wish Me Luck, Please…

I “failed” the one-hour glucose test I took last week – not by a lot, but they have a hard cut-off, after which they make you take the three-hour glucose test. This involves drinking twice as much awful fizzy extra-sweet orange soda (I hate orange soda to begin with) and getting blood drawn four times (which I’m really not good at in the first place).

So, tomorrow bright and early (well, maybe 8:00 isn’t really that early) I get to go become a pincushion. I’m going to look like a drug addict by the time I get home. Hopefully, I’ll at least be able to knit for most of the hours I’m sitting there…

Oh, and this topic came up at Sit & Knit tonight: how do women not know they’re pregnant? I’m not talking three or four months here, I’m talking about those stories you hear where someone goes to the emergency room for abdominal pain and comes home with a baby, not knowing they were pregnant in the first place. I mean, you would think the alien kicking inside their belly would be a big clue, wouldn’t you?