Here's a fact about me: I love ice cream. I think it is perhaps the greatest food invention ever (sliced bread is highly overrated). Those who know me well or anyone who has been a visitor at my house in the evening hours knows this little fact about me. Olivia loves it too. She gets so excited inside my tummy when I indulge in a nice big (I mean moderate) bowl of Blue Bell. For you Yankees, Blue Bell is the best ice cream in the country, made right in here in Texas. My current favorite flavor is Dos Amigos (remember, this is Texas, hence the Spanish), a perfect blend of Mexican vanilla and Mexican chocolate. Yumm...
So why the diatribe about ice cream? Because for four days now I have been worried that my ice cream days were over. At my doctor's appointment last week, I was due for the one-hour glucose tolerance screen they give to all pregnant women to check for gestational diabetes. On Monday, I learned that the results had come back a measly three points high, which meant nothing more than I had to go back for a three-hour screen. This was not a pleasant experience. It involved a 12-hour fast (hello, I am pregnant!), the ingestion of 20 ounces of super sweet orange-flavored soda-like liquid (which after 12 hours with no food or drink wasn't the worst thing I could have imagined), four independent blood draws (my arms now resemble those of a heroin addict), and lots of complaining (Sean can verify this one). Those closest to me and those who have ever been with me in any medical situation know that I am a weenie, a big weenie. But even in the face of such a miserable experience, these were not my biggest concerns. The thing that kept me up at night with worry (besides the health concerns for Olivia) was the idea of giving up ice cream.
Therefore, I am writing this post as my tribute to ice cream. I am writing to let God and you all know how thankful I am for my health, for the health of my child, and for ice cream and the ability to enjoy it. In the spirit of celebration, I encourage everyone reading this to think of that one thing you love so much and to indulge yourself, treat yourself, because you never know when that moment may come when you are no longer able to enjoy it.
So why the diatribe about ice cream? Because for four days now I have been worried that my ice cream days were over. At my doctor's appointment last week, I was due for the one-hour glucose tolerance screen they give to all pregnant women to check for gestational diabetes. On Monday, I learned that the results had come back a measly three points high, which meant nothing more than I had to go back for a three-hour screen. This was not a pleasant experience. It involved a 12-hour fast (hello, I am pregnant!), the ingestion of 20 ounces of super sweet orange-flavored soda-like liquid (which after 12 hours with no food or drink wasn't the worst thing I could have imagined), four independent blood draws (my arms now resemble those of a heroin addict), and lots of complaining (Sean can verify this one). Those closest to me and those who have ever been with me in any medical situation know that I am a weenie, a big weenie. But even in the face of such a miserable experience, these were not my biggest concerns. The thing that kept me up at night with worry (besides the health concerns for Olivia) was the idea of giving up ice cream.
Therefore, I am writing this post as my tribute to ice cream. I am writing to let God and you all know how thankful I am for my health, for the health of my child, and for ice cream and the ability to enjoy it. In the spirit of celebration, I encourage everyone reading this to think of that one thing you love so much and to indulge yourself, treat yourself, because you never know when that moment may come when you are no longer able to enjoy it.
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