My last post about depression had me talking a lot. I mean, I cut like 200 words out of that post to get it to a readable length and here I am still having things to say about depression.

So when I left off I was an unemployed mother of two who was going through some seriously taxing financial and emotional times. On a rare day when The Mr. and I had time alone (I actually think we had gone on a date!) I admitted to him and to myself that I was depressed. I started taking Prozac and feeling better. I felt better that it was a problem that was recognized and that I was finally able to take care of it.

No. 2 was about two and a half when I finally found a job (and just five blocks from home!); I continued on the Prozac knowing that it wasn't just being unemployed that was making me feel so miserable. (READ MORE)

Angela

I spent the last two days planning the next 12 years of my life. I've decided to reconsider becoming a doctor, so I had to change every minute detail of the "map" of what I expected life to be like in the next years.

I am positive that if I do become a doctor, I'm going to become an endocrinologist specializing in diabetes management in children. This would entail finishing my current degree, going on to medical school, a residency and finally a fellowship. This means the next 6 years of my life would be strictly school work. The 6 after that would be training in my field.

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So, when I left you in my diabetes diagnosis debacle, we were all screaming at Harry and Ruth for not knowing more about diabetes (even though Harry was studying to be a diabetes educator. Yeah, seriously.). (READ MORE)

Kerri asked in my comments how my diabetes reacted post-delivery.

It was amazing. I was up to 38 units of insulin a day, as well as 2000 mg of Metformin (aka Glucophage). The morning I was scheduled for my c-section (for non-diabetes reasons) I did not take my insulin per instructions. I couldn't eat anyway because of the surgery. My diabetes team wanted me at 110-120 bgl pre-surgery, so I actually had to have a little glucose in my IV drip 2 hours before surgery because I had dropped into the 90's.

I did not need another drop of insulin while in the hospital. I haven't needed it since except for a few dietary indiscretions. (READ MORE)

"Your baby is going to be so fat," a friend told me with a smile last spring. To some people, there is nothing cuter than a chubby baby, so calling a baby fat is somewhat of a compliment. But for someone with type 2 diabetes, who has struggled with her weight for a good part of her life, the fat baby comment stings.

"You have diabetes, so of course your baby's going to be chubby," she continued. "They call them sugar babies."

It's a label that left me steamed for months. My child wasn't even born yet and already he's being called fat. I could envision a plump future laid out before him. Shopping in the husky section. Getting picked last in gym class. Being called Jupiter during lessons on the solar system. All this before the cruel middle school years. (READ MORE)

I know I said never again, but lately I'm finding myself thinking, "Next time, I'll do this, that and the other thing differently."

Yes, I'll admit it. My little boy is so ridiculously cute these days that I'm actually thinking about doing it again. I know, crazy. But for the next few paragraphs, I'll at least entertain the idea.

Next time, I will see fewer doctors. I was in a group OB practice, a group Maternal Fetal Medicine practice and a group PCP. Not counting a dermatologist and chiropractor, I saw no less than 13 different doctors during my pregnancy. Seven different OBs, three maternal-fetal medicine specialists, two PCPs and one endocrinologist. If I were to do it over again, I would find an obstetrician or perinatologist who specializes in diabetic pregnancies and was not a member of a group practice. Maybe a team of two, but not a group. (READ MORE)