Whinge, whinge, whinge

By | 18 December, 2012
A portrait of an infant wittily entitled "A Portrait of an Infant"

A portrait of an infant wittily entitled “A Portrait of an Infant”

I always said I wasn’t going to whinge my way through pregnancy, because I’d wanted it for so long and it’s such a positive thing, whinging is just ungrateful. I’m not being 100% successful at this. I catch myself whinging quite often. But a detailed analysis of my whinges show that it’s not really the pregnancy that’s causing the irritations.

Approximately 10.3% of whinging is pregnancy related – normally due to being unable to stay awake, or a little bit short tempered which I’m blaming on hormones.

Circa 27.6% of whinging is related to ridiculous conversations with Drs, or general NHS inefficiencies. An analysis of that shows that less than a third of that whinging is directly related to pregnancy appointments, the majority is driven by diabetes consultations.

And coming in with 62.1% of the whinge vote is diabetes. This is what drives the majority of my kvetching and griping. Mostly it’s down to frustration with the random blood glucose generator that my body has become. But there is also an underlying toddler-esque feeling that it just isn’t fair that I have to deal with all this.

I resent the fact that the first conversations I’ve had with my unborn child have been along the lines of “Agh, mummy hasn’t quite got the hang of this insulin resistance stuff. Why don’t you just chill for a few hours? Or at the very least don’t work on growing any vital organs. Why not have a go at developing your netball skills, mummy’s managed without them for 33 years so you’ll be fine even if the glucose syrup you’re currently swimming in does mangle them.” And “Your mother is a diabetic genius, I’ve been a 5 all morning, you better be building something important today, I’d recommend moving all vital organs to the top of your to do list. Seize the day and all that.”

But when I’m not operating at the mental level of a 2 year old, I can see that having diabetes does help in one respect. Even in the darkest days of the first trimester when brushing my teeth or the smell of toast could make me sick, it was still diabetes that was getting most of the bleating and bellyaching. Diabetes is my whinge sponge, it soaks up all my whimpers and whines and means that I can avoid ungratefully whinging about pregnancy. See, I knew it had a purpose, it just took me a while to find it.

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