This is one of the only topics I have to discuss right now, mostly because it completely overshadows and consumes anything else I may relate to you. It's a big deal bringing life into the world. It takes a lot of work on everybody's part, emphasis on the bodies part. Steve has to contend with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife, I slowly watch my body morph and cry about cooking food and Charlotte has to grow inside me. Here is a snippet of a typical pregnant day.
10:00-11:00 am
Wake up at the crack of dawn for a PL (pregnant lady). Hobble to the bathroom, just like the 19 times throughout the night, as my sweet baby angel kicks my bladder for fun. Cheerios are my breakfast food of choice, they are tasty and easy to get together. The last thing on my to-do list at this early hour would be attempting to care about making something stupid like pancakes or scrambled eggs. Eat the nutritious cereal in bed and the most important TV shows for the next one-to-two hours. This is a routine more or less guaranteed to prevent harm from befalling other people who I may see if I had to leave my house earlier than two pm.
Between 1:30 and 4:00 pm
Time to work it out! Monday, Wednesday and Friday mean a slow waddle up to the gym at USU. I'm secretly hoping that others immediately notice I'm pregnant, thus explaining the crazy huffing and puffing I make travelling up the 90 degree slope of a walkway. I have definitely contemplated saying "Don't worry, it's because I'm expecting a bowling ball" every few seconds to myself on this trek.
Can't run anymore, for my lower back screams with every step. I had to make the switch to the elliptical machines, something I would have scoffed at before pregnancy. But they are starting to kick my butt hard core. Mostly I just think the same thing over and over to make it through "You can do it baby Charlotte. Good job. We aren't going to die today!"
around 3 or 4 pm till... whenever
Chores. I may or may not get to those. Cooking. That is a definite possibility, but I'm comfortable eating peanut butter, Nutella and honey on bread for tonight. About once a week I'm pretty motivated to make something so delicious that Steve jumps up exclaiming excellence in cooking. That, uh, hasn't happened yet because I'm no Paula Dean, but then he probably wouldn't have married me if I was a 60-something southern woman. I'll try pretty hard to make a scrumptious whatever, and I may or may not break down halfway through for any number of reasons. I'm tired or I break something or it isn't turning out or I hate cooking and we'll be eating applesauce till we die.
After dinner till my body falls unconsious
I may crochet something awesome -- excellent work! We might watch a movie together in which I secretly cry because sad music is playing. I will certainly talk to Steve about my day, either really cheerfully or with snot running down my face. Fall asleep after drinking gallons of water to quench the never-ending thirst, searing my back with rice bags to dull the sciatica and tossing for a good 30 - 40 minutes. But my sweetheart always says he loves me at some point, that I'm beautiful and how proud he is of what I'm doing for our family.
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