Follow up...

... to yesterday's whiny post:

Last night I slept well. Hurrah! Hubby's nose didn't whistle (yay!)... but he did snore. But that's okay, because he only had to be told to turn over once. Hurrah again! And he gave me a neck massage earlier in the evening for my aches and pains. Woo!

Also, I went to my Learn to Run Running Room clinic and had a wonderful time. I got out in the fresh air and socialized with some very nice people. I also had a nice, 25 minute jog/walk. And then came home feeling fantastic.

So all is well in the world of Hez.

So. Very. Tired.

Oh my goodness folks, but I am tired.

Last night I woke up at 3am. Then proceeded to toss and turn over and over again. Then listened to my husband's nose for awhile. Then had to get up and take a Tylenol for the crazy ache in my neck/shoulder region. Then stared at the clock. Then felt sorry for myself.

I think I finally fell back asleep around 5am. Only to have my alarm clock go off an hour later.

So, needless to say, I'm pretty zombie-like this morning.

I refuse to update Facebook like I normally would after a night of restlessness... simply because I just don't feel like listening to people tell me to "get used to it" or "it'll only get worse". I know that it's just Moms passing on their wisdom to me in nothing but a kindly, friendly, camaraderie-type way.

But, today, I just want to feel slightly sorry for myself.

Then, I'll go home and take a nap.

Yoga for fatties?

I think there's no denying that I'm loving pregnancy.

I feel good. I've been told I'm "glowing". My belly is getting rounder, and I love rubbing it every now and again.

But, for some reason, I still can't get the whole weight issue out of the back of my head.

I remember when my friend Kim was pregnant and she told me it was hard seeing the number on the scale going up and up. I was baffled by her comment.

As a non-pregnant person, I just couldn't imagine how she could even think that way. How could the number NOT go up? How could you worry about it when you're pregnant? That was just silly.

Then I got pregnant. And the number on the scale kept going up and up.

And then I went to a prenatal yoga class and started freaking out that the girls in the row ahead of me who were 26 weeks pregnant didn't even look pregnant AT ALL from behind. When I looked at myself in those giant yoga mirrors, I didn't really like the chubby back, arms and thighs staring back at me.

The truth is, I'm not letting it take over my life, by any stretch of the imagination. I don't obsess. I'm happy. But, at the same time, it's hard to just turn off this mentality that thin is perfect and right and lovely. Even when pregnant... all you should do is gain a bump. The rest of the weight gain? Well, that's just unsightly.

Anyway. Even though I've gained more than the books say I should have by now (one email actually said 'The weight gain has just barely begun'... at 20 weeks!! Does gaining 14.5 lbs. count as 'barely beginning'??) - and even though I'm about to bypass my husband in total poundage... I'm trying to be okay with it.

After all, this is the only time in my life where I can indulge when I feel like it and not really fret over those extra calories.

I should be enjoying it! Taking it all in! Loving it!

And if somebody would just tell those women in my yoga class...

I could.

The waiting game

So. I went for my 20 week ultrasound this morning. Of course, I was SURE that I was going to find out if my wee one was a boy or girl. And, of course, I went to a lab in my area where the technicians are not allowed to tell you the results.

 

Which means, I have to wait until my next midwife appointment to find out the sex.

 

That's not happening for 3 more weeks.

 

*Insert frustrated, exasperated noise here*.

 

"Oh well, three more weeks isn't too bad. One thing that parenting teaches all of us is patience!" a good friend of mine said to me.

 

Which? Yes… she definitely has a very valid point. But at the same time, I REALLY want to know. Like… now. (I have trouble with delaying gratification, as you can probably plainly see).

 

I've realized… this pregnancy thing. It's interesting. It's a very long process of waiting. And hoping everything's okay. And more waiting. And poking your belly every now and again to see if you can get your baby to move. And then waiting for your next appointment so you can hear the heartbeat.

 

If you're feeling good (like I am right now) and aren't too huge (like me right now), there's not a lot going on to remind you that you're pregnant. So you grasp onto anything and everything to help bond with your baby until that end moment.

 

That end moment.

 

I have a really great feeling that in the end, all this waiting is so worth it.

 

Oh man, how it'll be worth it.

One of the things that's pretty much tops on my list of Things I Love: browsing through book stores.

With a bit of downtime today, I decided to take advantage of my lunch break and head over to Indigo to see what's new in the world of books. (I was also excited to see if John Irving's latest novel was available yet. Alas, I was too eager. Not out until October 20th).

Anyway, as I was browsing through the "New and Hot Fiction" section, I saw a book I've picked up on many occasions, but have not yet bought. It sounds good. It looks good. But I just haven't gone for it. I just haven't been completely sold.

As I flipped it over to read the synopsis on the back (again), I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, is that The Glass Castle?" a friendly looking man asked me.
"Yes," I replied.
"That is one of THE best books you'll ever read."
"Really?" I smiled.
"Absolutely. The story is amazing. The characters just get you right away. So good. A must read!" he answered enthusiastically.
"Wow! Thanks very much!" I nodded at him as I glanced over the book again.

He left with his purchase, leaving me with a big grin on my face.

Because another thing I absolutely love? Are fellow book enthusiasts.

And this kindly book lover had me sold.

To run is to be

It's right around this time of year that I usually start running again. The Running Room clinics I participate in start up... the weather is unbelievably beautiful and perfect for jogging...

But this year, I won't be joining my usual 10k clinic and running between 4-10km 3 times a week. (And then my usual half marathon clinic and running between 4 and 21kms.)

Le sigh.

I remember, way before I was pregnant, I was determined to run during my entire pregnancy. "I can totally do it. And I will. I can't give up running!!" I thought.

Then I actually started running whilst pregnant and found that it just didn't feel right. I had a heavy feeling at the bottom of my stomach and I moved MUCH slower than I was used to. My body seemed to be telling me something.

So, I decided it was best to listen to my body and err on the side of caution. That's when I took up walking. (And prenatal yoga, of course.)

I'm absolutely loving the walking. I went for an hour-long walk with the hubster last night in the crisp, fall air. We brought along our mugs of decaf tea, and spent the evening talking and walking through our gorgeous neighbourhood. It was really, really nice.

But... I can't help but feel that something's missing.

I still miss running.

I miss going for a nice, long run in the cool fall air. I miss feeling my cheeks getting all cold and red, and them warming up afterwards with a hot shower and cozy pyjamas. I miss the undeniably fantastic feeling after a run. I miss feeling alert and alive. I miss talking with fellow runners about our time, how our limbs are doing, and how good it feels to be out again.

I miss being alone with my thoughts. Feeling revved up by a really good song as my legs take me further and further along my journey. Being with my Mom. Having a cup of tea at Tim's after a long run and feeling strangely proud of myself: strutting around in my running gear, knowing that everybody in Tim's must see that I. Am. A. Runner.

This year, I'll be joining either a walking clinic or a Learn to Run clinic, so I can still get some exercise with a group on a weekly basis.

It certainly won't be the same. But it'll still be good. And when baby arrives, I hope that I'll feel up to running again soon after. I hope I'll have the energy to make those impressions on the pavement again.

Because running has certainly made an impression on me.

Proud of my ability to work Tony Danza into the story

A couple of nights ago, I fell into bed, exhausted and worn out. I lay on my soft, soft bed, nestled between sheets and comforters and body pillows (oh my!) And then I looked up above me, revelling in the complete and utter satisfaction of the gloriousness that is my bed.

That's when I saw them.

A million little bugs. All over our walls and ceiling.

We had the window open that evening to get some of the fabulous fall fresh air into our room. Little did we know that those itty-bitty, yet HUGELY friggin' annoying bugs that seem to be infesting our suburbs right now were infiltrating our room.

(Thank you, Arwen the cat, for making little tiny holes in our screens with your claws).

So, I hustled out of bed yelling "EW!" as loudly as I could, in hopes that the hubster would come to the rescue. (It honestly was not much of an exaggeration when I said there were a million bugs. Really. T'was gross.)

Hubster was indisposed at the time (in the bathroom), and yelled "Get the Dustbuster!" at me.

"The Dustbuster??" I yelled back.

"Yes! The Dustbuster. Dust those little suckers."

Hubster knows about such things. He's my very own MacGyver/David Suzuki. So I don't question his somewhat strange suggestions.

So, I ran downstairs, grabbed the Dustbuster and came back into my bedroom. WITH AVENGENCE. Those stupid little bugs were not going to ruin my wonderful sleep by creeping into my open mouth (yes, I'm a mouth-breather) or getting into my hair. Oh no. They were going to die. And I was going to show them who's the boss. (Tony Danza reference! Nice.)

Anyway, I hopped up onto the bed and got into some weird kind of starfish stance with my legs apart and arms held together and above my head. (For some reason, I felt this would aid in my bug-killing).I switched on the Dustbuster... and I went to town.

Before I knew it, most of those dumb little suckers were gone. The bedroom was relatively bug-free again. I could sleep soundly.

And so.

The morale of the story? Well, dear Internet... I've discovered that when life gives you lemons...

You just gotta dustbust the crap out of them.