For a good part of last year we kept finding other people's dog droppings on our lawn or driveway every week or two. Finally about a month ago I got fed up. Instead of cleaning up the droppings, I grabbed a broom and swung furiously until they all ended up in the middle of the street, and I asked Kevin to do the same if he should see more. I wanted to send a clear message to the perpetrators, that if I should ever catch them in the act, I will take my broom to both them and their stupid dogs.
Then this morning Kevin caught sight of more dog droppings, except they were in our neighbor's driveway on the other side of the street. I should go lend the neighbors my broom.
My doctor's office called with some bad news. My one-hour glucose tolerance test came back a little high, so I'll have to take the three-hour test to make sure I don't have pregnancy-onset diabetes. For the uninitiated, the three-hour test goes something like this: I'll have to follow a stupid diet for a few days, fast the night before the test, then drive to the hospital first thing in the morning through evil traffic, drink a nasty glucose solution, and try not to vomit or black out while they take several samples of my blood over the course of three long hours, leaving scary track marks all over my arms that make the coworkers wonder.
I had to take this test the previous two times I was pregnant, so now I'm three for three. Maybe the epidurals have done strange things to my memory, but I do believe this test is worse than giving birth.
Labels: lusers, pregnancy
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