I took my glucose test...

After hearing much hype about how gross and sugary the drink was for the glucose test, I was a little freaked out that the receptionist gave me the orange bottled drink to down in three minutes right there in the waiting room.

I feared some gagging and funny "I'm drinking a gross drink" faces.

But honestly, I didn't mind the drink one bit.

It tasted like orange soda with a hint of orange flavored Sparks. The hint being the aftertaste in your throat kickback.

I can't drink anything fast and I'm not even a soda drinker, but I do love my sweets, so who knows why I was able to get it down so easily, but I did.

And yes, I was severely sugared up after. So in that way, it was very much like Sparks. Though I don't think I got the infamous Sparks orange tongue.

Now I wait for the results, hoping that I don't have gestational diabetes.

It's like I'm allergic to flat shoes

I bought a pair of nerd shoes, but they were sandals and now that the weather is cooling, I thought, cool, it's time for boots. I have plenty of those that will work just fine.

Not so fast.

My boots are mostly heeled, yes, but small heels. But the real problem is the feet. Bigger feet. Super swollen.

So I bought a new pair of cute boots last week (seen above). They have a wedge heel, I rationalized. Twenty-six weeks pregnant with twins. Almost 30 pounds of weight gain.

Yeah, not going to happen. They sure are cute boots though and I thought the fabric at ankle would accommodate the swell.

This morning while on the escalator to my train, a really nice MTA worker was on behind me. Take your time, mama, he said to me and had a huge smile on his face.

(Note: I hate the MTA, but the MTA workers I've met are all super nice -- like train conductor man.)

"You've got to retire those heels," he told me. "Just for a couple more months, for the baby," he said.

I'm wearing my two-inch thick-heeled Frye boots that are a bitch to get on and off.

"I know," I tell him. "And there's two in there."

"Twins!" he says and his whole face lights up. "Do you know what you are having?"

I tell him boy and girl. He tells me I'm blessed, but that I must put the heels away and take it easy.

He totally made my day. Blessed. I feel very blessed.

I just wish I could be blessed in heels.

Pregnancy fixed my teeth

I have a space between my two front teeth. It used to be massive. I was called bucky beaver as a child.

In my teens, I had a boyfriend tell me I really needed to get it fixed.

He was a jerk. Didn't let me wear bikinis either, but that's another story.

My space wasn't Sookie style (aka Anna Paquin), but it was big.

And yes was. WAS. It's nearly gone now and nothing has changed...except that I am pregnant.

Everything is swelling -- my wedding rings don't fit anymore, I'm even outgrowing (out-swelling) some of my shoes. Could it be my gums are swelling, somehow pushing my teeth together?

My friend Elizabeth told me this also happened to her sister.

My parents spent thousands on orthodontics...and it barely worked. OK -- it worked, but there was so much to correct so I'm lucky I ended up with an overbite and a small space.

I came to love my teeth. As big as they are and all.

It's strange to see the space disappearing.

But I can't see my vagina or my feet anymore, so I guess it's comes with my, um, condition.

The pregnant profile can be frightening

On my walk to work, I noticed my profile in the reflection of store windows. Quite mountainous.

A girl wearing a tan trench, ankle boots, and knee high socks was walking in front of me.

She was wearing a dress, so I could see her legs from the edge of the trench to just below the knee to where the socks ended.

Super cute socks with some kind of black on black adornment on the sides of the upper band.

She had skinny legs and was beyond cute.

I felt like a whale behind her.

A waddling beached whale wearing knee high boots that take a lot of energy to even fit into.

But then I recalled what the subway train conductor said to me earlier -- "Don't you look beautiful."

Really made my day. Thank you train conductor man.

And thank you pretty skinny leg lady, too. I love your socks.


Oh and about the sketch...art is clearly not my strong suit.

I'm a hot pregnant mess

Seriously, I'm hot. Like sweaty all the time hot. Even the palms of my hands get hot.

Pregnancy glow? It's sweat.

And what's up with me spilling food all over myself all the time?

Without fail, each meal, food is dropped on my clothes.

I'm dressed up as cute as a preggo can be today and on my light grey top, I just slobbered lettuce with mayo down one side.

I'm wearing lunch.

Is my hand-to-mouth coordination as off as my center of balance?

Or is it the food, mocking me, or trying to enter my body by any means possible. Maybe the twins are summoning the yummies from the womb. The food does always fall on my belly.

Do stripes make me look fat?

OK, don't answer that.

I'm getting big. I'm 25 weeks and my OBGYN says I'm presenting like 31 weeks.

It's the first time in my life where my ass actually looks flat.

And yes, it's strange to see my profile with a protruding belly.

I'm waddling more now. Walking slower. Eating more. Getting more and more excited to meet the twins.

I wonder what color their hair will be and their eyes...will they have daddy's blue or my dark chocolates. (Brown sounds too boring.)

Baby A, my girl, is already a wild one. She moves a lot and like to punch and kick.

Baby B, my boy, is more relaxed. He's great giving us profile pictures in the sonograms.

They already sound a lot like mommy and daddy.

My belly button is so happy I'm pregnant

I have just had a laughing fit so outrageous that tears streamed out of my eyes. And it's all because of my belly button.

I should be crying really. Or throwing up at the sheer grossness.

You see, I have a small belly button. Big (round) twin mama belly. It sure is basketball-like, isn't it?

And the small belly button is starting to pop out. Just in one spot, but as my husband likes to say "the dirt of a thousand years is ready to come out."

I'm not a thousand years old yet, but it sure is dirty in there and I never knew it because, well, I could never see inside it before.

Let it be know I hate my belly button. I freak out when it's touched and it just creeps me out in general.

I had a half day Friday today and my doula had to cancel on our visit since one of her other mamas was giving birth. So I had so time to...clean my belly button.

I googled how to do it -- alcohol and Q-tips. And I embarked on my mission.

It started off well -- real results on that cotton swab and I saw a tiny beauty mark inside there that I never knew I had. But then I unearthed a stubborn piece of a brownish-black blob of something that wouldn't budge.

Enter my hubs and the tweezers.

Which probably would be frowned upon by those in the medical community, but something needed to be done. This was, what I feel, a health hazard to have this filth in my go-to-nowhere hole.

I mean, it's kind of like the pathway to my soul. It should be clean.

After several attempts and many laughing fits, hubs got "it" out. He said it may contain fibers from clothing I wore in 1982. He may be right.

I didn't take a photo of it...unlike that mysterious hair growing out of my wrist (which hasn't returned yet, thank God)...but it looked like a black booger and smelled wretched.

I had to smell it. Wouldn't you?

I'm happy to report my belly button is all clean. Perhaps my soul is brighter now that the dirt has been removed.