This morning I was tested for gestational diabetes… a word I can barely pronounce without feeling like I have marbles in my mouth.
Whoever’s idea it was to ask a pregnant lady to fast for blood work, clearly wasn’t a pregnant lady.
By 11a.m. I was ready to start yelling at the Filipino nurses that were using my arms as pin cushions. By 11:30a.m. I was having a full-blown existential crisis brought on by pure starvation. The granola bar in my purse kept telling me to eat it. It was practically crawling up my arm that was now covered in band aids, and climbing into my mouth.
Although I had slept like I was dead the night before, all I wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. Everything hurt, and I was truly in full self-pity mode. I kept checking to see if my partner had text me to ask if I had survived; but clearly he didn’t think it was as big of a deal as I did.
I felt like the anhedonic Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh–kicking a rock down the road. Twelve hours without food will do that to a girl.
I spent the remainder of my day in full existential crisis mode. I deleted my biography on Instagram… I contemplated deleting my secret business idea… I was like a five-year old girl trying to figure out why the sky was blue.
For some reason, today was the day that I couldn’t help but ask myself what the ef I have been doing my entire life. I felt exhausted by the constant hustle of trying to successfully master being an entrepreneur. I felt like I had spent my entire adult life trying to prove something; what or why… I was not sure…
While waiting for my next blood withdrawal I hastily wrote in my journal. Gosh, maybe I did have diabetes… I seemed to be going mad.
Part of me feels like my life is just beginning with motherhood. Another part of my feels like my life is being taken away by motherhood. My career has less meaning than every before. Yet I yearn to establish myself in all its certainty, and have one less question to answer. I knew being a mother meant I would stand up and be the absolute best version of myself.
It wasn’t just today I felt like I had to have all the answers. It was an ongoing dialogue in my head that never shut off. In a world with absolutely no certainty, why do we all grasp onto the slightest glimpse of certainty? What are the people who seem to not care doing differently? Drugs?
Do we all walk around in absolute fear, waiting for the sky to fall? Or was it simply the fact that I couldn’t seem to distract myself on this fasting morning of needles and urine cups…?
I wish I had answers, but I only seem to have more questions.
The good news is I survived my torturous morning.
As I sipped back a coffee and croissant in the company of a friend–my crisis mode almost dissolved with each bite. But when I spilt half my coffee all over my white outfit–I decided it just wasn’t my day.
The good news is it ended… the day turned into night, and as I crawled into bed I thought:
It may not have been my best day, but it passed. Such is life. No matter how bad it gets, it passes. I can go to bed and wake up to a new day.
Photo by Gustav Klimt 1903-1904
Pregnant Woman and Man