Tales from the Diaper Bag



Lazy days

Today is one of those rare days when I have the house to myself. My hubby is off at a football game. . .hanging out with “the guys” talking about work and sports, drinking over-priced stadium beer and marinating in testosterone. I’m at home and free to do whatever I want without any of the usual eyerolls or sighs when those activities get a little too she-she.  Usually on days like this, I’d do all kinds of things–get my hair cut, go to the bookstore, go shopping for something really girly (like make-up or shoes). That, alas, was the pre-pregnant me.

The pregnant me has spent the day sleeping in. Then I got up had breakfast and took a nap. Got up from my nap, put on a chick-flick (The Wedding Guest, if you must know) and took a snooze. I sense you’re picking up on my pattern, no?  Now it’s lunchtime, so I’ve taken a shower and I may go out and run some chores and then come back and sleep some more. So is the life of a pregnant woman. (Interestingly, this also describes the life of someone with African sleeping sickness–I wonder if those people also find themselves craving Big Macs for no good reason.)

I’m tired now most of the day.  Why I’m so exhausted, I have no idea. Since getting pregnant, I have the activity level of a paper weight. I drive to work.  I sit at a desk. Sometimes, I get really hard-core and take the stairs at work, but most of the time, I take the elevator and get winded on the walk from the lobby to my office. It’s pathetic, actually. I had high hopes of being one of those cute, perky, active pregnant mamas that exercise until the very day that the baby is born.  

Flash-forward to reality: Just in time for Halloween, I’m the walking dead.  ::sigh:: Not the plan, Stan. But I’m too tired to think about it much more. I’m going to go take a nap.

 

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