We Failed Williamsburg

“I haven’t figured out this gestational diabetes thing yet,” I stated very clearly. “I will do my best and bring snacks and stuff, but I don’t have a good handle on managing it yet.” Chris was sure it would be fine. 

Everything was ok until lunch. Lots of walking! Not too terribly hot for the middle of August! Live music at lunch! (Isaac was not so sure about that at ALL). I ordered some soup. 

Ok, here’s the deal. I always get shaky low blood sugar if I go too long without eating, even if I’m not pregnant or nursing, but it’s fairly severe during those particularly taxing occasions. I was not totally surprised to find out I had gestational diabetes—I sweat if I eat too much candy and feel buzzed anytime I drink orange juice. But with this new carb-restrictive eating plan, I felt like I was having to eat constantly, but never eating enough to feel satisfied. I felt like all I was doing was waiting until the next chance to eat something in the hopes that this would be the meal that would make the woozy shakiness go away. At first anyway. So that’s how I felt 45 minutes after lunch—starving, exhausted, shaky. 

“I think we should try to power through nap time!” Chris said enthusiastically. 

That sounded like a bad idea to me, but Chris seemed so happy. I didn’t want to be the fun bum. 

“We can try, but Isaac is not used to going without a nap, and neither am I,” I cautioned. “So you need to have extra patience with us.” That was stupid of me. I should have said, “NO! TAKE ME HOME NOW!” 

“Let’s try!” Chris headed off down the road to an old building that offered a tour. 

Less than 15 minutes into the tour we were asked to take Isaac outside because he was too wiggly. I took him outside, where he promptly fell into a puddle in front of the next tour group. I tried to nap sitting up on a bench. It didn’t work. Chris finally came outside. I explained this was not fun. Isaac was throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t let him throw rocks at a tree because a guide was giving me the stink eye. 

“Fine! Well let’s just go home then since no one can do anything!” 

…. “Yeah, sorry we’re not all a bunch of healthy, adult men, who never have to carry babies in their tummies for months and develop gestational diabetes,” I lovingly and patiently replied (all lies). “Sorry your son is a happy three-year-old who needs to nap everyday.” We sat down and ate some goldfish crackers. We tried to rally. The sun came out and beat down. We slogged through the heat to look at a few more things. 

Within an hour I was crying in exhaustion and Isaac had climbed into Chris’ arms and gone to sleep. 

There was no happy ending to this story, which is why it never got posted before now. We got carb-appropriate food from Chick-fil-A (the cobb salad with crispy chicken is a perfect 45 points or whatever I was supposed to stick to for dinner) and sat in rush-hour traffic on the way home. I swore I would never go back. We did, of course, for a successful (pre-nap) Christmas rendezvous. There, that’s the happy ending I guess! 

In conclusion, Williamsburg is ok, but gestational diabetes and growing babies is ridiculously hard. 

I like seeing Asians posing for pictures. I SO identify with that. It feels like I’m looking at our time in Japan through a mirror that inverts all the colors, but with nationalities. You know? I love it.