BSparl: She Likes to Make Me Work.
Park City is an old mining town nestled among the Wasatch Range of the Rocky Mountains, and aside from buzzing with Sundance excitement and brimming with film-goers and celebrities, let me just say that the damn place is not flat. Not even close to flat. (See also: built amongst the mountains) The majority of the "stuff to do" is on Main Street, and I'm pretty sure that street is a 60 degree angle.
BSparl and her mommy (me), in all their frontal weight gain glory, were not amused.
Something about walking up and down (and usually up and down a few more times) that street had me more winded than if I'd tried to run a mile on the treadmill at a 6.0 incline. I know that the air is thinner in that part of the country, being so freaking high above sea level, and I also know that having a little baby girl growing inside of me is compromising the room for my lungs to expand. But I had not anticipated how hard it was going to be just to WALK around in Park City. We'd take the bus from our condo down by the Yarrow Hotel and get dropped off at the city transit center, and then the huffing and puffing would begin.
"I'm ... sorry ... for ... not ... keeping up." I'd pant with each step as I tried to keep up with Chris.
"It's okay, baby. We'll go slow. We're not in any rush."
"Awe ... some. Hang on while I lean against this lightpole for a minute ... and let my lungs ... do stuff."
(Thing was, we were late for two different dinner appointments because I couldn't catch my breath about 15 minutes into the walk. I've never felt more awkward, or more yeti-like, than I did trying to plod up Main Street.)
Overall, little BSparl was a well-behaved fetus, doing her job of kicking and sleeping and rolling around in there. I'm officially sporting a major baby belly, complete with visible baby movements even through my shirts. And thankfully, my basals didn't need any adjusting while we were away. I don't know if it was the time change or all the walking around or maybe it was just the grace of the diabetes gods, cutting me some freaking slack for the week, but my numbers ran relatively stable while we were away. (Save for that f'ing 300 that came up as a result of overtreating two 48 mg/dl's in a row, pissing me off royally and causing me to have to skip dinner one night.) I changed my infusion sets every three days like clockwork - mainly because I'm now using about 50u of insulin a day and that's the shelflife of one pump cartridge and also because sets left in too long are starting to get infected faster than usual - and I tested about 18 times a day. In addition to Dexcom'ing.
I may have left a trail of test strips on that there Main Street.
BSparl is proud of her daddy. When I was trying to coax her into kicking at times, all it would take is a quick "Hi baby!" from Chris to get her scooting around in there. And during the five screenings of Buried, she danced in celebration for her father's success. I believe I may be building a "daddy's little girl" in there, and I think they're respectively smitten with one another.
Traveling at almost seven months pregnant was definitely a challenge, and I'm not sure I would have done it, were it not such a big freaking deal to go to Sundance. Heparin before the plane ride was one thing (that shit stings going in, FYI), and not being able to lift my suitcase wasn't exactly heartbreaking, but moving around was a little awkward. And having to pee every 30 minutes was also cumbersome. (I know where EVERY bathroom is in Park City. Thank you, BSparl, for making my bladder your pillow all week long.)
But I wouldn't have missed this for the world.