What a tragedy. I've been instructed to lay off the sweets, because the results of my Glucose Challenge Test (which sounds like a reality tv show, but isn't) indicate that my blood sugar levels are a teensy bit higher than they ought to be.
When I found out, I thought back guiltily to the pillow-sized French pastry I had for lunch. And the chocolate bar I snacked on last night, which was a preggy prezzie from a friend. And the giant blueberry muffin in the fridge. And the biscuits and gourmet ice cream.
For I have a sweet tooth matched only by the that of the boy, who is English and therefore has a very sweet tooth indeed.
To add further suffering to this Lent-like sacrifice, I have to go for more tests on Thursday - this time I have to fast. That means nothing except water may pass my lips between 9.30pm Wednesday and whenever the tests finish on Thursday (hopefully no later than 10am).
Fasting of any sort is a minor catastrophe for my metabolism, because I'm the sort of person who has to eat frequently in order to avoid feeling weak, lethargic and horribly grumpy.
Meanwhile I'll cross my fingers and hope I don't develop gestational diabetes.