pregnancy marathon

You know you have hit a brick wall in pregnancy when you wake up more sore than when you went to bed.  Up three times a night, stumbling around due to sleep drunk and non-functioning hips and hardly able to roll over once every thirty minutes...well, I don't get a lot of rest.

Once when I was pregnant with Ruby, I hoisted myself up using Jimmy's arm as a brace and it woke him.  Alarmed, he asked me what I was doing and I told him that I had been using him for weeks to assist in the rolling over olympics.  He was shocked.  And a little disturbed, I think.

Have you heard about this lady?  She has completed an insane amount of marathons, three of which were completed pregnant.  One of those at eight months!  Sorry, but I consider pregnancy itself to be a marathon (says the girl that can't roll over unassisted).  Not only do I believe forty weeks to be an eternity (in the same fashion I would view 26 miles of running), but I have perfected the pregnancy waddle and consider that to be enough of an accomplishment for nine ten months.  That and consuming disturbing amount of oreo cookies but that's sort of on the down low.

Last weekend I walked into a high school basketball game where one of the referees was jogging smoothly up and down the court.  With a bump.  And I don't mean a basketball.  She was also eight months pregnant.  What is with these over-achieving pregnant women trying to show the rest of us up?

I'm all about the pregnancy card.  Laundry?  Husband can carry it.  Vacuuming?  Might over-exert myself.  Wrestling baby into pajamas and teeth-brushing?  No energy.

Seriously, the stairs nearly do me in every night.  How do I know I have carried my 27-pound toddler down them one too many times?  She now breathes the perfected lamaze techniques as we travel down them.

Hoo hoo hoo.  Ouch.  Hoo hoo hoo.