At 36, I’m of “advanced maternal age.” That places me in a high-risk category in and of itself. Oh, and last time I had diabetes and preeclampsia. More high-risk factors. I’ve had a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that I just can’t control what my body does at this point. What I wouldn’t give for a normal, uneventful pregnancy.
This time around, my body is even more insulin-resistant than it was previously. Diet? Exercise? Not enough. I feel frustrated. What I’m doing should work, right? It’s not.
I have weekly appointments with a dietician to check my food, my blood sugar numbers, and just to make sure everything’s going the way it should. Today was my first appointment. Since it’s mid-morning, I have to take my son with me. I thought that wouldn’t be a big deal. He’d play with his cars while I talk to the dietician. WRONG. Oh, how sadly mistaken I was.
When I got to the office, I was so happy to see 20 minute parking available. Hey, things are going my way. Woohoo! I thought. We went upstairs and checked in. My son was fascinated by the fishbowl at the check-in desk. It was still early enough that I thought we’d be fine. It’s a good two hours or more until naptime!
As soon as they called me back, all hell broke loose. My son fuh-reaked out. He didn’t want to go into the tiny office they had for consultations. Literally would not go through the door. He started crying. I tried to give him some of his cars, which always worked before. His milk. My phone. He wanted NONE OF IT. But I had to do this appointment. So I’m kneeling in the doorway, trying to calm him down while talking to the dietician about my food diary.
We basically had to talk over him. Oh, did I mention that this is back in the offices, where other people are trying to work? Here’s my screaming child, throwing a tantrum in the hallway and there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried everything to calm him down, but he only worked himself up even more.
Between that and having to increase my meds AGAIN, I felt like such a failure. As we left, he was still crying and throwing a fit. So much so that I had to THROW HIM OVER MY SHOULDER to get him in the elevator (he doesn’t much like elevators on a good day). I have never been so mortified in my life.
I managed to make it to the car before I broke down. Sobbing, I called my husband to let him know what had happened. I don’t know how we’ll manage more of these appointments. Whether it means trying to find an alternate time or just taking him all the way to daddy at work for a half hour while I do my appointment. (Which adds a lot more time, mileage, and gas to the equation.)
I don’t know whether he’s finally hitting the terrible twos, or just getting a start on three. But man, if he’d started this crap any sooner I’m pretty certain he would NOT have a sibling on the way anytime soon. Or maybe ever.
(Let me note how much I love my son. I adore him. He is the sweetest, most loving kid. Really. He has never acted this way when I’ve had to take him somewhere. Ever. So I was totally unprepared. And I’m still not sure what we’ll do in the future to stop this behavior. I just felt like the most incompetent mother in the world today. I’m sure there will be more rounds of it in the future, especially when there are two to deal with.)
