An unexpected baby perk...

My Thursday morning started out so innocently.  Seriously, just a typical Mommy Perks morning...

*5:45 am...alarm goes off and snooze button is successfully pushed.

*5:55 am...roll out of bed, crawl around in the dark to find workout clothes that aren't too smelly/haven't been used for a couple days.  Get dressed.  Brush teeth. Consider using a brush, but quickly reevaluate and decide against it.  Current disheveled ponytail will have to do.

*6:00 am...Head downstairs to force an icky protein bar down, scrounge up my gym pass and head out into the delightfully blistering winds.  Nothing like the biting cold to remind you just how excited you are to be leaving your warm bed in your dark room to go hang out with lots of grunting, weight lifting meatheads and unfortunate women who need to enroll in Spandex 101.  (Note-in case you didn't know...Spandex 101 is just a one-time class that teaches you DON'T WEAR SPANDEX.)

*6:05 am...Arrive at Gym.  Begin pre-workout ritual.  This includes hanging up my coat, filling up my water bottle, and using the facilities-sometimes more than once.  (This is to ensure that I can make it an hour-ish without having to pee.  If you are/have been pregnant you know that this is quite the accomplishment.)

*6:15 am...Treadmill warm-up.  

*6:30 am...Begin 1-hour session with a personal trainer.  (NO. I do not HAVE a personal trainer.  Ha, I WISH I had that kind of disposable income.  Actually, a couple weeks ago I decided to set up this one-time session just to make sure all my exercising I've continued to do since being with child is safe.  Once you're pregnant you'll start hearing every "Dont let your heartrate exceed 140 bmp or you'll fry that baby!" and "Oh no! you can't do crunches anymore!" statement, so I just thought it was a good idea to have a trained professional check me on my current workout regimen.

*7:30 am...Wrap up 1-hour ass-kicking session.  Seriously...lunges, squats, and all sorts of other weight-resistance bending and twisting.  He assured me he's coached his wife through two pregnancies and kept her safe and fit.  In fact once he mentioned that his wife had been called the "strongest pusher" their doctor had ever encountered during childbirth I suddenly felt that competitive urge seeping through my pores.  Like suddenly, I needed/wanted to steal that title from his wife and be the new, better, harder "pusher."

*7:35 am...Still conversing with the trainer when I feel it coming on.  Oh no.  I've felt this feeling before.  Shit.  A sudden flashback to many embarassing moments throughout my childhood flood my mind.  The country club tennis courts. The balcony of our condo in North Carolina.  The middle of the cafeteria on the first day of summer camp amidst 400 noisy, hungry campers.  I try to grab my water bottle to prevent the inevitable.  

**Next 3 minutes are not able to be accurately/truthfully documented.**

*7:37 am..."Call 9-1-1, she's pregnant."  These are the first words I remember hearing.  I lifted my head to find that I was surrounded by every Rec Center employee (one of which was a boy I used to play spin the bottle with in my old neighborhood when I was 9 years old), the personal trainer holding me up, several fat, nosy men who come to the gym to leisurely pedal a bike with no intention of breaking a sweat, and an oxygen tank being hooked to my pale, sweaty face, and eventually several HOT McDreamy-esque paramedics.  Score.

If you didn't put it together, I had blacked out/fainted.  All I could think was, this poor poor trainer.  He's just spent the last hour working out with me and 10 minutes later I'm unconscious and being hooked up to oxygen.  Not exactly what you'd deem a proud professional moment.  Well here's the thing-don't go developing a hatred for this trainer just yet.  I promise that NOTHING we did during that workout caused me to pass out.  In fact, the workout was hard, but nothing outside of my comfort zone.  The reality is, I've always kind of battled with low blood sugar/wacky glycemic levels throughout my life.  Bottom line-if I don't eat, I'll eventually faint.  The weird thing was...I had eaten-remember?  Grrr...that nasty protein bar.   Anyways, the hottie tottie medics began asking me a bunch of questions...you know-THOSE questions.

"What's your address honey?  Are you still feeling faint? Is there someone we can call for you?  What's your address?  How old are you?  How far along are you?  How much water have you had this morning? What's your address?  Did you eat this morning?  How do you feel right now?  What's your address?  Your husband's not answering.  Is there someone else we can call for you?  Do you still feel faint?  What's your address dear?"

OK I GET IT.  You're checking to make sure I'm "with it."  But for the LOVE of everything good and holy in this world, I'm conscious enough to know my address-and also conscious enough to be annoyed that you've now asked me what it is no less than 17 times!  They asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital?  No.  They asked me if they could drive me home?  No.  They informed me that I needed to contact my OB as soon as I got home.  Duh.  And eventually they let me leave the lovely scene I had created at my gym.  Nothing like a passed out pregnant lady, oxygen tanks, hot medics and a freaked out personal trainer to add a little excitement to everyone's morning workout.  

Well, my drive home left me becoming short of breath again...not because I was going to faint again, but because the reality was looming that I'd have to go home and inform Daddy Perks of what had just transpired.  I marched into the house, up the stairs, "refusal of transport to hospital/sign your life away" papers in hand and tried to spat it out all in one sentence so as to make it seem less dramatic:

"Honey?  Can you wake up, I need to talk to you for a minute.  So I finished my workout this morning, was talking to the trainer afterwards, passed out, knocked my head on the counter, fell, was carried to a bench, got hooked up to oxygen,  almost got rushed to the hospital, they couldn't get a hold of you, drank some juice, got my sugar tested, had my blood pressure taken, and now I'm home, so we need to call the doctor to let him know what happened."

Did I say it quick enough?  Would we be able to skate over this little mishap and move on with our day or would he totally freak out?  Well-a little of both I guess.  Once he came down from the intial panic/guilt that he was unreachable when his pregnant wife/unborn child needed him, he took action, called my school to let them know I wouldn't be in today, called our OB to make an impromtu appointment, and ran to McDonald's to get me an egg bagel and greasy hashbrowns.  Mc-E-Dee's breakfast helps with low blood sugar right?

So finally...the unexpected baby PERK you've all been wating for:

While Mommy and Baby Perks were being examined at the doctor's office to make sure all was well in belly world, we got to hear the little nugget's heartbeat!  Yes siree...he/she is alive and kicking, heartrate is 154 bpm!  So if you've read this far and you're thinking to yourself...was it really worth all THAT (blacking out, sweat, bump on the head, embarassment, oxygen,  poking & prodding, and annoying question-asking) just to hear our little one's heartbeat?

 

Absolutely.