A Gift

At 29 weeks pregnant I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I was shocked. A phone call to my mother revealed I have relatives on both sides of the family tree who had gestational diabetes and type 2 diabetes as well.

For the next 11 weeks I was a fanatic about my eating habits. I followed the diet recommended by my dietitian religiously. A sonogram at 32 weeks showed my daughter weighed approximately 4 pounds, which was the 97th percentile for weight at that gestational age. Fortunately diet and exercise were all I needed to control my diabetes and my daughter was born a healthy 8 pounds 2 ounces at 40 weeks.

Over the next 4 months I have dropped 65 pounds from continuing the low carb gestational diabetes diet and exercise program. I feel better than I have in years and even with caring for an infant I have more energy than I have in years. At a recent doctors appointment my physician made a comment that has stuck with me: "your daughter gave you a gift. Don't return it or break it or loose sight of it. Make the most of it every day."

Fortunately I agree completely. It is easy as you go through your 20's to take good health for granted. Or to have little to no regard for your health. Our society encourages binge drinking, promiscuity and unhealthy eating habits and glosses over the consequences as part of the aging process. I abused my body in my 20's and my child could have paid the price. She has given me the gift of health back and I intend to cherish my health and daughter for the rest of my life.

Was that you?

When my daughter was 2 days old my husband and I were watching her sleep in her crib, talking about how cute she was, how luck we were and how tired we were. As we were watching we heard a very distinctive fart coming from the crib. We looked at each other, looked at our daughter and laughed. Who would have thought someone so small could make a sound that loud? Just one of the many things I had not thought about in life prior to baby.

Over the next 5 months we have enjoyed many laughs at the volume of her digestive track, however what happened yesterday will haunt her forever. My husband  and I purchased an entertainment center over the weekend. It was delivered Monday and as I watched the deliverymen assemble it, Morgan in my arms, I heard the unmistakably loud sound of someone passing gas. As I shook my head and smiled in embarrassed amazement at my daughter, the deliverymen looked at each other and smirked. In horror I realized they thought I was the flatulent party.

To the amusement of the deliverymen, she continued to preform and then giggled after each sound. After the second episode I decided any attempt to comment would look like I was blaming the baby for my own actions so I just ignored it and spent the next 10 minutes wishing they would just hurry up and get out of the house. Now I must find an online site that can make a t shirt stating "My baby farted, not me!"