Still Alive and Kicking. Barely.

I'll admit it: I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Much like the last time I did this 13 years ago, this pregnancy was going as smooth as possible. I can't say I felt any different than I did when I was 20...until this week. Last weekend, I came down with a cold that I was sure was the worst ever had by any human being ever. Never mind the fact that the flu has killed bazillions of people throughout history, this seemed like it must be worse than all that. I felt like I got hit by a truck and then backed over once or twice. I ended up with heat rash across my chest, congestion, and an exploding head. Apparently, though, you can't actually have the flu unless you spike a fever, which I somehow managed to avoid even with chills and sweats. Who knew?

However, the cold--despite it's kick-ass nature--was a mere inconvenience. What's worse is that results of my glucose test from the previous week came in and it appeared that it was possible that I have gestational diabetes. WTF?!?!?!?!? So, after suffering from the cold, I managed to drag my sorry butt back to Kaiser for a more extensive diabetes screening on Thursday.

The 3 hour glucose test is the worst test I have ever taken in my life. SAT? Piece of cake. GRE? Did it in my sleep. Comps? Stressful, but no problem. Random drug tests? Pfft. 3 hour Glucose? I will never, ever put myself through that again.

The short version of it goes a little something like this: avoid food and water after midnight, head to lab at 8:00, 1st blood draw to establish fasting glucose, drink cup o' the sweetest, foulest most disgusting Sprite ever imagined, start sweating, feel nauseous, stumble to restroom to splash water on face, stumble into stall for worse, try not to throw up (throwing up means automatic repeat of test), assure random strangers in bathroom that you are not dying or in labor, stumble back to lab for 2nd blood draw, get stuck, roll eyes back in head as you mumble something like "I.I.I. think erjisuefnkjwn..", have 90 pound lab tech try to keep you from passing out on to the floor, move to 'baby room" for rest while lab calls nurse, pass out, mumble something to nurse about being "fine, fine, arghjabfieufb...,"wake up for 3rd blood draw, pass out in baby room again, wake up for final draw, and call neighbor who is lovely enough to pick you up with a steaming thermos full of minestrone soup.

Call me intuitive, but I figured my lousy reaction to some sugar water probably meant that I failed. This, however, concerned me less than I expected. I'm not sure I've ever failed a test in my life, so it does suck that this had to be the first. But, part of me was more exasperated than defeated. I mean, I've gained 14 pounds in 30 weeks; I walk a couple of miles everyday; and, my diet consists of 90% whole organic foods, not to mention being vegan which is suggested to curb diabetes. I'm not sure what else I could do. In fact, all this makes me wonder if my natural aversion to sweets isn't some kind of innate life-saving strategy my body has developed to help me make it through 33 years. Who knows what would've happened to me somewhere along the line if I actually liked chocolate or ice cream...

The good news is that I'm feeling a lot better than I was 2-3 days ago and I even managed to leave the house this weekend:

30 Weeks and Counting...

Middle Names Are a Bitch

While the name Juniper (which was originally suggested by Patty) came easily to us and seemed like a natural choice, the middle name has not come so easy. I suspect, in part, this is due to the fact that I don't have a middle name and they've always just seemed like unnecessary ornamentation to me. I mean, yes, Aspen got one anyway, but I worked with it by making her middle name Aspen and never, ever using her first name.

So, here's the conundrum. We decided to go with Brown because Juniper sounds marvelous with it (Luedtke's a tough name to match). However, using Brown effectively eliminates any one syllable middle names. The repetition of one syllable names sounds too truncated--like a shot gun. A misfired shotgun. For example, I really like Juniper Bell....but, Juniper Bell Brown is a nightmare. It also makes a three syllable middle name a mouthful. Juniper is long enough on its own. So, that leaves us with two syllable names that don't start with 'B' (too much alliteration) and aren't in any way a color or tree (she's already got one of each). And, really, imagine, if you will, Juniper Blue Brown. I've even played around with using both our last names but, if you put Brown in front of anything, it sounds like a description, not a name.

So, with that in mind, we've struggled to come up with something that works. In fact, we've even taken to randomly plugging street names in the middle of Juniper Brown as we pass by exit signs on our road trips. That hasn't worked either....

UPDATE: While writing this bitch session, Josh and I agreed on a middle name. Thus, it has been decided. Without further ado, her name shall be...

Juniper Paisley Brown