While researching pregnancy exercises at the beginning of the second trimester, I came across a lot of articles that said that walking was a really great form of exercise for pregnant women. Ha! Walking? I walk to campus, around campus--I power walk, matching Husband Man's long giraffe-leg strides, and that doesn't feel like exercise. Psh. Pansies.
Then I started putting on baby weight, as Gummy Bear got bigger and all that, and walking suddenly became fantastic exercise. Touche, pregnancy, touche.
Conundrum: When you get pregnant, it will seem that many people feel obliged to hold doors for you, let you go first to microwave your food, or help you put up your plastic chair after masterclass is over. When you cross the street, however, drivers will still seem to have no qualms about running you over.
Husband Man and I have talked a lot about things we want to do with our kids, sort of like goals and talents that we want them to have. For example, my children will learn to play the piano, no arguments, and we also want to encourage them to do karate or play an instrument or take swim lessons, etc. You know, the standard. We've also talked about things like trying to make sure our kids stay on top of the learning curve, trying to keep them engaged in wholesome activities, and other things like that for when they're little toddlers and kids. We write these ideas down and commit that we will make our kids the amazing prodigies we know they can be. (Let it be known, however, that these are realistic ideas-- I'm not about to teach my baby to swim before they're a year old or anything crazy like that.)
Then I go and babysit someone's kid, and my entire mindset changes. Are they dead? Are they sick? Are they crying? No? Fantastic. It's a great day.
I love randomly finding pregnancy information online. One day, while on Pinterest, I ran across what was supposed to be the ultimate website that would answer your every question about being pregnant. I clicked on it, just for kicks and giggles, and the one question that I actually read was, "Should I eat Arby's while pregnant?"
I was flabberghasted. Woman, you are pregnant! If you want Arby's, you get in your car and drive down the street, and you get a giant roast beef sandwich and an apple turnover, and you enjoy that darned food like a caveman would enjoy a leg of mammoth!
Conundrum: When you get pregnant, you will be bombarded with
questions. How are you feeling? When are you due? How is the baby? Do
you have a name picked out? How are you feeling? What gender is the
baby? What do you mean you didn't find out the gender?? When are you due
again? How are you feeling?
You will receive these
questions so often that you might be tempted to think that people
actually are interested in baby stuff. And then one day, when you're
trying to show the carseat you picked out to your victim of choice, your
husband will point out that they don't really seem interested. You will
quickly learn that people really aren't interested in the baby's goofy
kicks and mannerisms, and that they're even less interested in the
choice of carseat or pack n play. (Unless they're pregnant too. Then
they'll talk a little bit with you.)
Another thing I've quickly learned is that my brain, which mostly functioned before, does not function properly now. In fact, my entire being doesn't really function normally. Husband Man will hand me something, and it goes straight to the floor. I'll start a story or a thought, and midway through it my mind will turn into a void filled with the knowledge that something important used to inhabit that space but now it is lost to the four winds. If I'm lucky I'll get the thought back, but I don't know when it will return-- it could be in the next minute, the next hour, or the next day.
I've heard stories of women who turn into bloodhounds when they're pregnant-- you know, they can smell everything, and sometimes those smells can make them sick. I don't really have that-- in fact, when I was babysitting a friend's six-month-old, my friend got home and pointed out that the baby had a poopy diaper that I apparently couldn't smell. The only things that have really bothered me are vinegar, which is what I use to clean my shower, and nail polish. But not poopy diapers.
Conundrum: When you get pregnant, you will receive a bucketload of advice. You have to pick through it all, obviously, but there are some things that will baffle you. Your sister-in-law will mention that you will experience hair retention, but two, three, four, five months later you'll be standing in the shower pulling wads of hair off of your fingers and asking your husband if you're going bald. A lady in your ward will tell you to rest your laptop on your belly and watch your baby kick it, but no matter how many times you try it your baby will ignore the invading laptop and pummel your intestines instead. The same goes for drinking cold things and watching your belly turn into a popcorn popper-- you're still waiting on that one. Pregnancy websites will tell you what adorable developments are occurring with your adorable baby, and you'll read about adorable sleep patterns and adorable kicks and see images of pregnant women lounging in the Bahamas with green smoothies and unblemished faces... and then you'll look down at your yoga pants rolled halfway down your butt, and your husband's hoodie; you'll realise that your baby has forgone a sleep pattern in lieu of doing whatever the heck they like; and that your baby doesn't kick but rather makes their world a playground for flips and karate kicks and wiggles and dancing. All this reaffirms just one thing-- advice is still just advice.
That moment when you're laying in bed next to your husband, who is resting his hand on your belly and happens to feel the baby do a two-second jump-flip-rebound-kick that contorts your belly and smacks your left lung and right hip simultaneously, and the husband says with a surprised look "Wow! That was big!" and before you realise it you've given him the look and said "I KNOW..."
(I love my Husband Man! His reactions are priceless!)
When we go to the gym Husband Man is doing pullups and squats and situps and pushups, and there are guys
around us doing their pullups and ring thingies and headstand jumps and running around, and I'm
all "These wall pushups are killing me! Holy canole!"
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