On Friday, I learned that I failed my three hour glucose tolerance test, which means I have been diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I know it’s strange, but I just had a feeling, and really wasn’t shocked when I got the phone call. I had a pretty epic freak out on Monday of last week when I learned that I had failed the one hour glucose test and had to go back in for the three hour one, and in retrospect, I wonder if it’s because somewhere in there, I just knew I was headed here.

I spent the weekend alternatively freaking out, feeling sorry for myself, feeling okay about it, and googling way too much. I am admittedly bitter that I now have to give up sweets (Reese’s! Ice cream! Cookies! Sour patch watermelons! My daily cherry coke!), which I have been craving constantly since September. It’s not like giving up beer and diet coke and all those other things is a cakewalk. (Cake!) I also will have to cut down on my carb consumption, and I mean… my entire diet lately has been carbs and sugar, honestly.

But the bottom line of all of this? Whatever it takes to keep this baby healthy is whatever I will do. Regardless of how difficult it might be, or how far out of my comfort zone it is, or how many times I have to make myself bleed every day. The potential risks to my baby if I don’t manage my GD are really scary and I don’t want to think about that. I have tried on and off to be more healthy over the years, and always have a reason to cheat. Knowing now, that if I cheat, it will have a direct impact on this baby is a pretty damn un-ignorable incentive NOT to cheat.

I obviously have a lot to learn, still, and haven’t even really started with the changes I need to make. This morning, I had an appointment with a diabetes counselor who taught me a lot about what GD is and how to start tracking my blood sugar. GD happens for all kinds of reasons (and not only to people who are overweight or eat sugar all the time), but it basically boils down to the fact that the massive amounts of hormones in my body are blocking insulin from doing its job. So my body needs to produce way more insulin than normal to counteract that… and it isn’t doing that. So here we are. I have a moderately cute glucose meter, test strips, and sharp pointy things with which to stab myself five times a day for the next two and a half months. It wasn’t as painful or freaky as I expected… but it also took me four sticks to get a reading when I tried it for the first time by myself. I know it’s going to take some trial and error to get my diet on track, and I’m trying to be easy with myself if my numbers aren’t within the good ranges yet. I will meet with a nutritionist on Friday afternoon to learn more about what I should be eating, and I’m sure that will be more helpful than all of my googling so far.

To be honest? During the past few years, when I was struggling to lose a little weight, I would joke that I just wanted someone to tell me how to eat to be more healthy. And now? I have an appointment with someone who will tell me just that, and a REALLY REAL reason not to fuck this up. In a lot of ways, this feels a bit like a blessing in disguise. In an effort to keep my baby as healthy as possible, maybe I’ll learn how to get MYSELF healthier. That can’t be a bad thing.

Even if I can’t promise I won’t whine about all the candy and cookies I won’t be eating. I’m still human.