Went in for my 3 hour glucose test today. Worst part about going in at the end of the week is that I won’t get the results until MONDAY. That’s like, A LOT OF DAYS AWAY. Sigh.

After I did that I picked Justin up from work and he asked me how it went, he knew I wouldn’t get the results till Monday but still asked how I fared in general.

“I failed. I know I failed!” This is every bit as dramatic as it looks.

“How do you know you failed?” he says to me, incredulously, knowing I can’t possibly know the blood results yet.

“I just know I did. I mean, I don’t mind so much having the diabetes, really, I know it’s temporary and really only for like a bit over 10 weeks. So I’m not too worried. I am just upset that I failed.”

He’s quiet for a minute. I continue:

“I guess that’s kind of silly, isn’t it? But I’m most bothered by the fact that I’m going to fail the test, more so than the fact that failing it means I have gestational diabetes.”

“I was going to say – you sound like a perfectionist who just got a C on a term paper.”

“Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”

I’m an idiot, I know. It’s nice to have a husband that knows me so well, but also difficult and self-revealing.

And I know I’m going to fail lots of things in life. It’s not the failing so much as failing A TEST. Yeah, I know I can’t study for it, but I also know that my western diet is partially to blame and that makes me feel guilty. Like I should have studied harder. Or something.

In the meantime, I’ll wait. And feel ridiculous for being upset about failing a test (that I don’t actually know for sure that I failed).

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