Pour some sugar on me, oooh in the name of love, pour some sugar on me...c'mon and fire me up. Pour your sugar on me, oh I can't get enough. I'm hot, sticky sweet...from my head to my feet, yeah.

I love you like the fat kid love cake

This week I had the distinct pleasure of experiencing a little slice of heaven called the "3 hour glucose tolerance test."

Sounds pretty benign, right? WRONG!

This test totally sucked. I think I would rather a colonoscopy {seriously, the meds for a colonoscopy are amazing! A nice warm beach vacation in my mind... High as a kite} than this piece of crap test.

I had to experience this little delight because I failed my 1 hour glucose screen.

Let me walk you through this, for those that aren't already in the know...

So you have to fast for at least 8 hours before the test. No food. Only small sips of water. Nothing else. You also have to fast during the test... and just like the name "3-hour glucose tolerance test" implies- the test takes 3 hours (well, plus a little bit more). So that's 11 hours of not eating. To all my homies out there that have been pregnant before- you know what not eating for any sort of extended period of time feels like... and it's painful.

So, you show up for the test... they draw your blood once for your "fasting" blood glucose result... and then you get to chug the 100g glucose beverage. The 1 hour is a 50g glucose drink, which is already sickeningly sweet... so, for level of sweetness, we are off the charts here, people. It's ridick.

So, after pounding that drink like a beer bong from college, then begins the wait.

The excruciatingly painful wait.

There needs to be a masseuse and esthetician in the waiting area... because legit, 3 hours on an uncomfortable waiting room chair is no bueno.

Lucky for me, I remembered to bring some activities. A few magazines that I hadn't read from quite some time ago (did ya'll know that we landed on the moon?! That Neil Armstrong...amazing!), and my iPad. I was super stoked to catch up on some of the tv shows I've fallen behind on- but alas, I forgot my headset. Awesome. I did have a stash of toddler snacks and toys packed neatly in my bag. Gee whiz, how fortuitous. Mmm, toddler snacks. I'm starving. Dammit.

After 1 hour, I get my blood drawn again. Of course, the chick bruised the hell out of my arm... because, seriously- why would it be easy? Why?! Argh... and back to the waiting room.

Luckily, this time, the chick sitting next to me is providing a level of entertainment that I couldn't even get from Jerry Springer. She's on the phone with one of her friends talking about how "Susie really is going to want you down at court today because today is Tommy's sentencing and she doesn't think it's going to go well...She's going to need our support and a few drinks..." Where is my ice cold coke and popcorn when I need it the most?! Ahhhh!

And then that lady gets up and leaves so I decide to start researching gestational diabetes. BIG.MISTAKE. If I thought that this 3 hour test was bad, being diagnosed with GD is a freaking nightmare. 30g of carb per meal? Are you serious? One slice of bread has 36g of carbs. Oh sweet Lord, I may kill myself. And then begins the text messages to Jason... They went something like this...

Steph: "So, I'm pretty convinced I have gestational diabetes... and I just want you to know, you're going to have to be on suicide watch if I do because this ish is bananas. Can I eat bananas with GD? I don't even know. OMG. I can't eat anything. I will to starve to death and die."

Jas: "You don't have the results of the test yet. Why don't you just relax and wait and see what the results are before you go all off the deep end."

Steph: "My life is ruined. What will I eat for Thanksgiving? I don't think I can live without stuffing and mashed potatoes. I will starve to death and die."

Jas: "Why don't you just wait and see what the results are before you get your knickers all in a twist?"

Steph: "I'm going to die."

And just like that, it's time for another blood draw. Awesome. Ok, let's use the other arm that is not bruised like a UFC fighter's face. And back to the waiting room I go.

Damn you, sciatica! Why are you acting up at a time like this! This is hellacious. I have gestational diabetes and now I've got sharp shooting pains through my butt check and leg. I want to cry. And I have another freaking hour to wait. Maybe I will take a quick stroll outside...

I go downstairs, open the door... and forget that it's 18 degrees in Columbus this morning. O.M.G. I can't feel my face.

Well, that was fun. Back to the waiting room I go. I start texting a friend... talking about anything and everything I can possibly think of. Wow, wait, this is unprecedented... I don't have a toddler crying at my feet to pull the phone from my hands... I have uninterrupted time. Aside from having to sit in this uncomfortable, pleather nasty chair, while waiting to get my blood drawn yet again- this amazing! Free time?! WHO KNEW?!?

When the clock finally rolls around for my last blood draw, there is a small part of me that is just a touch disappointed to say goodbye to my time of freedom... and then the giant overwhelming part of me is just ready to go all savage and eat an entire animal. So what I do? Head to the first Wendy's I see and get the cadilliac of chicken sandwiches complete with Biggie sized everything (I need one last meal before my official diagnosis of gestational diabetes comes in, ya know)... and head home. Why oh why did I forget to order a Frosty?

I kept hyper-vigilantly checking my lab results all afternoon... No results. So, that night I may have indulged in a few anti-diabetic treats as well... And by a few, I mean maybe there was a pint of ice cream involved... operative word there is "was."

Anyway, as I anxiously awaited my fate (or death as I called it), I was completely unprepared for what would happen next...

My test results were completely normal. And I am nowhere near being a gestational diabetic.

Cheers! I'll drink to that... a Coke. Not diet, of course.

Until next time...